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The Coming of Dave 



2)anDcnon Series 


THE CASTAWAYS OF 
PETE’S PATCH 

(<iA Sequel to The Adopting of Rosa Marie) 


BY 

CARROLL WATSON RANKIN 

Author of “Dandelion Cottage,” “The Girls of 
Gardenville,” etc. 


IVith Illustrations hy 
ADA C. WILLIAMSON 



NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1911 




p'. 




Copyright, 1911, 

BY 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 


Published November^ iqii 




THE QUINN Sl BODEN CO. PRESS 
RAHWAY, N. J. 



©CI.A3()(i542 

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I 


TO 

ERNEST AND BERWICK 

AND ALL OTHER GOOD CAMPERS 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

Introduction xi 

I. An Innocent Plan 

II. The Troubled Whale , 12 

III. A Predicament 24 

IV. A Night Out 36 

V. The Missing Whale .... 49 

VI. The Coming of Dave .... 59 

VII. Delivered by Dave .... 68 

VIII. The Pangs of Hunger .... 78 

IX. An Exciting Afternoon ... 87 

X. A Stormy Night 100 

XI. Dry Clothes for Five . . . .110 

XII. Mabel's Astonishing Discovery . . 118 

XIII. Breaking the News .... 127 

XIV. A Missing Messenger .... 136 

XV. Doctor Dave 147 

XVI. A Valuable Insect .... 158 

XVII. The Game Warden's Visit . . 168 

XVIII. The Boy’s Name 179 

XIX. A Belated Traveler . . . .188 


V 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XX. A Surprise Party .... 199 

XXI. Dave Makes Himself Useful . . 213 

XXII. A Twisted Conscience . . . 225 

XXIII. Billy’s Memory 234 

XXIV. A Mutual Friend .... 241 

XXV. A Captured Fisherman . . . 252 

XXVI. In Fairyland 264 

XXVII. A Visitor for Laddie . . . 274 

XXVIII. Breaking Camp 285 


THE PERSONS OF THE STORY 


Bettie Tucker ^ 

JEANIE Mapes ( Dandelion Cottage, now 

Marjory Vale 
Mabel Bennett j 

Henrietta Bedford: Their Chum. 

Mr. Black: A Childless but Fatherly Man. 

Mrs. Crane: His Warm-hearted Sister. 

Dave Gurneau: A Good and Bad Half-breed. 
Mahjigeezigoqua : An Old Acquaintance. 

Mr. William Saunders: Mr. Black’s Right-hand. 

Miss Blossom : A Timely Visitor. 

Rosa Marie: A Very Young Old Friend. 

Terrible Tim : Always to the Point. 

Billy Blue-eyes : The Most Cast-away of all the Cast- 
aways. 

A Number of Parents and Other Necessary Grown-ups. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 

PAGE 

The coming of Dave . . . Frontispiece ^ 

The space behind the log was already oc- 
cupied 124 ^ 

Seated on the dry end was a stout, placid 

MAN 256 ^ 

“Mother!” he cried. “Mother! It’s my 

mother!” 276'^ 



INTRODUCTION 


When the biggest lake there is chooses to 
go on one of her very best rampages, even 
the bravest of mariners make as speedily as 
possible for safe harbors. At midnight, there- 
fore, following a certain blustery day in early 
summer, it was not strange that the huge, 
storm-tossed lake appeared, for as far as eye 
could reach, absolutely deserted. 

Somewhere, however, on that fearfully tu- 
multuous sea, one direly threatened craft was 
still abroad, and, what is a greater marvel, still 
afloat. At best, the ancient yawl was but a 
poor excuse for a ship; now, at her worst, 
she was little more than a raft. Driven before 
the wind, tossed here and there by the buffet- 
ing waves, she carried a solitary passenger 
and only a little one at that. 

Indeed, he wasn’t at all the kind of sailor 
that one would expect to find sailing danger- 


XI 




xii 

Introduction 


ous seas all alone at midnight, for the solitary 
mariner, adrift in all that wilderness of tum- 
bling water, was a twelve-year-old boy. 

There was no sail to the little boat — ^that 
had been torn away in the furious gale^ — ^but 
a short, stumpy mast remained. To that the 
boy, happily unconscious of his plight, was 
firmly but rather clumsily bound by means of 
many folds of stout fish-net wrapped tightly 
about his slender body. Also about his waist 
hung a battered life-preserver. 

The lad had been fastened there by other 
hands than his own, for most of the knots 
were out of his reach. The little chap’s head 
hung forward; his eyes were closed; he no 
longer heard the roar of the sea or felt the 
cold or suffered from hunger; but in spite 
of this merciful oblivion, he still had a life 
to lose — and was in very grave danger of 
losing it. 

It isn’t fair, of course, to leave a really at- 
tractive little lad in a plight like this; with 
darkness and an angry sea all about him; with, 
seemingly no possible help at hand, since the 




Introduction 

xiii 


nearest coast was still many miles distant and 
supposedly uninhabited. 

Yet, in this truly terrible predicament, this 
poor boy — strange little hero of a girls’ story 
— must remain until you’ve learned just how 
a certain ‘‘Whale” (you must admit that it 
isn’t usual to find whales near fresh water) 
contributed to his rescue. 

To discover exactly how it all happened we 
must go way back to the very beginning; and 
the beginning of it all was Bettie. 


\ 

4 


THE CASTAWAYS OF PETE’S 
PATCH 

CHAPTER I 

Bn ITnnocent iplan 

‘‘ ^'JlpHIS/' said Bettie Tucker, one morning, 
with approving glances at the offer- 
ings heaped about her, “ is certainly a pretty 
fine world. I’m glad I stayed in it, even if I 
haven’t feet enough for eleven pairs of pink 
bed socks.” 

For an alarming number of weeks, Bettie’s 
friends had feared that this most lovable of 
little girls might not remain in it; but now 
that all danger was past, she was able to sit 
for long hours by the window that afforded 
the best view of the Tuckers’ front gate. 

Ordinarily it was not much of a gate. So 
many little Tuckers had climbed upon it and 
tumbled off that it had grown shaky as to 
hinges and bald as to paint; though, if one 


2 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

used rope enough, it was still useful as a bar- 
rier between the world and the adventuresome 
Tucker babies. 

But now this gate — or rather this gateway 
— had become a most interesting spot. 
Through it, at delightfully frequent intervals, 
came baskets, boxes, and bundles. Most of 
them contained offerings, more or less enjoy- 
able, for convalescent Bettie; for all the mem- 
bers of Doctor Tucker's church loved the gen- 
tle, kindly, absent-minded clergyman. Now 
that a member of his household was recovering 
from a serious illness, it seemed, as Doctor 
Bennett, the family physician said, as if the 
parish were bent on making her ill again by 
sending her more things to eat than any one 
small Bettie-girl could possibly hold. Every- 
thing from soup to dessert flowed in at that 
gate, for Lakeville was a kindly town and 
everybody knew that overworked Mrs. Tucker 
had quite enough to do without the extra work 
of preparing dainty food. ' 

Moreover, to add very seriously to Bettie's 
danger from promiscuous donations, Doctor 




An Innocent Plan 

3 


Bennett^s own warm-hearted but decidedly in- 
experienced young daughter Mabel was labori- 
ously cooking things out of a large number of 
cook-books to carry triumphantly or despond- 
ently, according to her degree of success, to 
her very dearest friend Bettie. 

This,^' explained Mabel, one morning, dis- 
playing a dull purple, most uninviting object 
that quivered uncannily when one shook the 
bowl, is ' Ambrosial Delight/ ’’ 

“ Where — where did you get it ? asked 
Bettie, eying the strange mixture distrustfully. 

“ Out of an advertising cook-book that 
somebody left on our doorstep. It said ‘ Am- 
brosial Delight’ under the picture, but some- 
way the pudding looks — different.” 

“ What makes it such a very queer color ? ” 
demanded interested Bettie. 

‘‘ Grape juice and eggs,” explained Mabel, 
tenderly clasping her handiwork to her breast. 

You see, according to the picture, it ought 
to be in even purple and yellow stripes and 
standing up in a stiff para — parachute — ^those 
things in Egypt ” 


4 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ Pyramid. Go on,” assisted Bettie, accus- 
tomed to Mabel’s difficulties of speech. 

Pyramid, but someway the custard part 
and the jelly part all ran together and sat 
down. But it tastes a lot better than it looks.” 

Bettie mustn’t eat anything more for two 
hours,” interposed Mrs. Tucker. She’s just 
had a big piece of strawberry shortcake. I’ll 
set this pudding in the ice-box — ^that’ll harden 
the jelly.” 

I’m ever so much obliged,” beamed Bettie, 
suspecting that Mabel would have enjoyed see- 
ing her eat the ‘‘ Ambrosial Delight.” “ It’s 
nice of you to cook things for me.” 

“ Even if they do turn out wrong most every 
time,” supplemented Mabel. “ Yes, I think it 
is nice, because I sort of hate to cook anyway, 
and everybody in our house just hates to have 
me. I’m so> untidy, they say. I always have 
to do it when Bridget isn’t looking and it 
makes me nervous to have to hurry. Can you 
think of anything else you’d like me to make ? ” 
continued this martyr. Because I’d do it, if 
I had to get up before daylight.” 




An Innocent Plan 

5 


“ I don’t know of anything unless somebody 
invents a dish that will go right straight to 
my knees. They wabble. I feel as if I’d like 
to run a mile, but by the time I’ve tottered 
to the gate I’m glad it isn’t more than a dozen 
steps. There’s your father coming — I’m go- 
ing to ask him why my knees wabble so 
awfully.” 

Impulsive Mabel, at this news, instinctively 
scrambled under the bed. Then, remembering 
that she had really been pretty good all day, 
she sheepishly crawled out, to Bettie’s amuse- 
ment, to greet her surprised father. 

I’m on my way home,” said she. 

“ So I notice,” returned Doctor Bennett, his 
mouth stern, his eyes twinkling. “ Don’t let 
me detain you.” 

I want to know,” demanded Bettie, “ why 
I haven’t any knees ? ” 

“ I think,” replied Doctor Bennett, ‘‘ that 
we ought to get you outdoors a great deal 
more than we do. You’re not getting air 
enough. Where’s your jacket? I’ll take you 
for a drive this minute — I’m going to South 


6 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Lakeville by the shore road to see a patient. 
Think you’re good for a buggy ride ? ” 

I’m sure of it,” laughed Bettie, ‘‘ but I’m 
afraid my bones will scratch all the varnish 
off your nice bright buggy. I’ve twice as many 
ribs as I used to have^ — ^perhaps my knees have 
turned into ribs ! ” 

Bettie returned an hour later; none the 
worse for her drive and hungry enough to eat 
even Mabel’s unsightly pudding, after finish- 
ing a large bowl of broth. 

“ It tastes fine,” she confided to Doctor Ben- 
nett, who had insisted on carrying the slender 
invalid upstairs, ‘‘ if you eat it with your eyes 
shut. My! I’m hungry as a bear — ^wasn’t it 
lucky that mother had my lunch ready? ” 

“ I guess you’ll have to have another ride 
to-morrow,” laughed the pleased doctor. 
“ Fresh air is all the medicine you need — you 
ought to live outdoors.” 

There was danger, however, of Bettie’s get- 
ting more fresh air than any one little maid 
could ever hope to breathe, for, the next morn- 
ing, there was an item in Lakeville’s daily pa- 




An Innocent Plan 

7 


per that brought curious and almost instan- 
taneous results. The paragraph read : 


“ Miss Bettie Tucker, who has been seriously 
ill for several weeks, enjoyed her first outing 
yesterday.’' 

It wasn’t a very big item, Bettie thought, 
for so momentous an event, but it was quite 
large enough for kind-hearted Lakeville. Im- 
mediately, everybody with anything one could 
ride in wanted to take Bettie driving. Mr. 
Black placed his automobile at her disposal. 
Henrietta Bedford’s grandmother, Mrs. Sla- 
ter, laid her horses, the grandest of her car- 
riages, and her only coachman at Bettie’s bed- 
room-slippered feet; Jean and Marjory labori- 
ously collected sufficient money to hire a sad 
old horse, more or less attached to a dilapi- 
dated cab, from the very cheapest livery stable 
for a whole expensive hour. Nearly all the 
members of Doctor Tucker’s congregation took 
turns inviting Bettie to ride in anything from 
a buckboard to an omnibus. Even Julius 


8 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Muhlhauser, the milkman, insisted on carrying 
her, in his flaming scarlet cart, over three- 
fourths of his milk-route, one morning. 

** That,’' laughed Bettie, after the milkman 
had delivered her safely at her own door, was 
something different. It isn’t everybody who 
has a chance to drive down the milky way.” 

“ Are you hungry ? ” asked her mother, meet- 
ing her at the door, with a bowl of broth. 

Not so very,” returned Bettie, neverthe- 
less accepting the broth and eating it eagerly. 

I drank a whole pint of the milk- wagon 
milk.” 

Next, all Bettie’s friends began to invite the 
little girl to visit them. She had to spend 
whole days or pieces of days with Jean, with 
Marjory, with Henrietta, with Mabel (who 
nursed her so devotedly that she almost suf- 
fered a relapse), and with Mrs. Crane and 
Mr. Black. But, as yet, she had not returned 
to her old footing with her comrades; she 
was not yet sufficiently strong for the old 
rough-and-tumble play, the happy-go-lucky 
hours in Dandelion Cottage. She was a new 


An Innocent Plan 9 

variety of Bettie, a fragile Bettie, to be han- 
dled with the utmost tenderness. 

Mr. Black and his stout sister, Mrs. Crane, 
than whom Bettie had no stauncher friends, 
had swung the largest and most gorgeous ham- 
mock that Lakeville could furnish, under their 
trees for her — they were only sorry that she 
couldn’t use two hammocks. 

‘‘ Peter,” said Mrs. Crane (they were sitting 
on the porch to keep an eye on Bettie, who, in 
spite of the gorgeousness of her swaying 
couch, had fallen asleep), “that child ought 
to stay outdoors all the time. That rectory 
is a stuffy place, crowded up against the church 
and right in the smoke of two factories. As 
soon as she’s strong enough to stand it, she 
ought to go camping — some place on the lake 
shore where the air is pure.” 

“ Of course she ought,” agreed Mr. Black, 
heartily. “ It’s the best tonic in the world for 
growing children — ^there’s nothing like it in 
bottles.” 

“ Isn’t there any way we could manage it ? 


If we only had a camp- 


lo The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ We’ll have one,” promised Mr. Black, 
promptly. 

But we haven’t any land ” 

‘‘Yes, we have; a lot of it. About four 
years ago I bought forty acres from an In- 
dian, forty more from his brother, and then, 
just to be obliging, forty more from his friend, 
all for a few dollars an acre. Afterwards 
somebody suggested that it was all the same 
forty, but it wasn’t; I looked it up to see. It’s 
seventeen miles from here on the shore of the 
biggest and wettest lake there is, with the, 
cleanest, sweetest air that ever was made. Just 
the finest spot in the world for a camp — I saw 
it once. 

“ When ? Oh, six or seven years ago. I 
tell you what, Sarah! Suppose we take a run 
up there in the automobile and have a look 
at it. There used to be a road — it’s probably 
there yet.” 

“ Why couldn’t we make a picnic of it and 
take Bettie and the girls ? ” asked good Mrs. 
Crane, instantly falling in with her brother’s 
plan. “ Seventeen miles is no distance at all for 




An Innocent Plan 

II 


the car — I’m sure Bettie could stand it because 
she could get a nap there as well as at home.” 

We could,” agreed Mr. Black, ‘‘ and I 
guess there’d be room for Henrietta, too — 
she’ll want to go.” 

“ I always did enjoy a picnic,” confessed 
Mrs. Crane, a little sheepishly. “ I guess I 
haven’t quite grown up, in some ways.” 

I like ’em myself,” owned Mr. Black. 
“ Besides, I’ve been thinking for some time 
that I’d like a look at that land — haven’t seen 
it since I bought it. This is Monday, isn’t it? 
Suppose we go there day after to-morrow if 
the weather stays right — ^that’ll give us a day 
to cook in. We’ll ask the girls to-night.” 

So, in this commonplace fashion, was 
planned the picnic that proved utterly unlike 
any picnic that this good, elderly couple had 
ever attended; for this particular outing be- 
haved in a most extraordinary way. Mr. 
Black supposed that this innocent excursion 
was his, that it belonged to him, that it was 
subservient to his will; instead of which — but 
you shall hear what happened. 


CHAPTER II 


Zbc XTroubleJ) TIBlbale 

M R. BLACK, his fine dark eyes sparkling 
with pleasure; his crisp hair, plentifully 
sprinkled with white, standing upright from 
his broad, benevolent brow, looked with ap- 
proval at his party as he packed his merry 
guests very carefully into his big touring car. 

Jean, who was tall and not particularly wide 
for her fourteen and a half years, was at- 
tractive because of the serene loveliness of her 
expression; one knew at a glance that she was 
a good child. One guessed, just as quickly, 
that Henrietta was sometimes naughty, for an 
.impish light danced in her long-lashed black 
eyes and there was a mischievous dimple in 
the dusky crimson of her cheek. Next to Jean 
in height and age, she seemed older and yet 
less responsible — one couldn’t be quite sure of 
spirited Henrietta Bedford. 

Marjory, two years younger, was both short 
and narrow for her age; and so very fair 


12 




The Troubled Whale 

13 


that one had to guess at her eyebrows. But 
she, too, was a pretty child, for her small fea- 
tures were pleasing and her pale golden hair 
was quite wonderful. Like Henrietta, she was 
quick and graceful in all her movements. 

Bettie, also between twelve and thirteen, was 
now mostly eyes; big, velvety brown ones that 
played pranks with one’s heart-strings; par- 
ticularly with those of Mr. Black and Mrs. 
Crane. She had lost all her short, curly brown 
hair during her illness; it was now coming in, 
shorter and curlier than ever. 

Mabel, the youngest of the group, was also 
the broadest. But her undeniable plumpness 
did not detract from her looks. One couldn’t 
help liking her honest brown eyes, the whole- 
some red and white of her rounded counte- 
nance, her sturdy, childlike figure, and the rich 
bronze of her abundant — and frequently untidy 
— hair. 

Mrs. Crane, brown as to skin, black as to 
eyes, stout, elderly, and warm-hearted, was 
very like her brother, except that she some- 
times worried. Mr. Black never did. 


14 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Finally all these good people, with a coat or 
sweater for each girl, with two big hampers 
of food from Mr. Black’s home, with several 
baskets of picnic lunch from the other houses, 
were stowed away in the capacious car. Mr. 
Black called his automobile the “ Whale,” be- 
cause once, for a few weeks, it had been driven 
by Jonah Higginsworth, who, however, was 
so frequently cast forth by this modern whale, 
owing to dangerously reckless driving, that 
Mr. Black had been obliged to discharge him. 

‘‘We are seven,” said Mr. Black, taking the 
chauffeur’s seat. “ I’m going to drive this car 
myself ; they say the road’s a bit rough — isn’t 
used much. Seven’s a good number.” 

“ Eight’s better,” retorted Henrietta, diving 
into a silk bag and dragging forth a queer bun- 
dle of mottled fur. 

“ What’s that? ” demanded Mr. Black. “ I 
didn’t invite anybody like that to my picnic.” 

“Just a kitten,” explained Henrietta, wav- 
ing him for all to see. “ I adopted him yester- 
day, but nobody in our house likes him, so I 
have to wear him — he’s very tame.” 


The Troubled Whale 15 

He looks/’ laughed Bettie, ‘‘ just like the 
pudding Mabel made for me two weeks ago; 
purple, yellow, and white, all jumbled together 
— let’s name him Ambrosial Delight.” 

“ No,” objected Henrietta, “ he’s already 
named Anthony Fitz-Hubert.” 

‘‘ Because he has fits ? ” asked Marjory. 

‘‘ He doesn't. Just see how calm he is.” 

Doctor Bennett, Doctor Tucker, Marjory’s 
Aunty Jane, and all the mothers stood on the 
sidewalk to see the merry party started on its 
way. Henrietta’s dignified little grandmother 
sat in her carriage. 

“ Don’t worry if we're late,” said Mr. Black, 
turning to this trusting assemblage and not 
guessing how very late he was going to be. 
‘‘ The other end of our road may prove a trifle 
heavy; the day’s so fine that we’re not going 
to hurry, anyhow. Good-by till you see us 
again — ^we’ll take the very best care of all your 
precious girls. Good-by, good-by ” 

‘‘Just where are you going?” shrieked 
Aunty Jane, a moment too late. 

For the picnic, kitten and all, was already 


1 6 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

spinning joyously away; and never was there 
a happier party. At first the inviting road was 
all that road should be, for constant use kept it 
in excellent condition. After the first two 
miles, however, the going was only fair, as it 
.was necessary to proceed rather slowly because 
spring rains had uncovered big boulders that 
it seemed best to avoid. Also there were 
chickens — never had the Whale’s way been so 
beset by loitering hens. When these had 
finally been left behind, the Whale came to a 
pleasant stretch of country road partly over- 
grown with short, fragrant grass. 

“If it’s all like this,” said Mrs. Crane, sniff- 
ing contentedly, “ it won’t take long to travel 
seventeen miles.” 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t like that for any 
great distance. Soon the Whale was panting 
laboriously up a long, stony hill; down which 
a foolish little creek that had strayed from 
its proper bed was meandering aimlessly but 
with most disastrous results. It had made deep, 
jagged, treacherous furrows that had to be 
skilfully avoided; so it took considerable time 




The Troubled Whale 

17 


to climb the damaged hill. After that, the road 
was sandy. 

The sand in northern Michigan seems sand- 
ier than any other sand. Mr. Black was cer- 
tain that it was at least a mile deep along that 
dreadful road, skirted by a dreary stretch of 
small poplars. But far ahead, this dauntless 
man could see the beckoning green of lofty 
trees — he fixed hopeful eyes on that and 
coaxed the groaning Whale to nobler efforts. 
Where the sand was deepest, everybody but 
Bettie and Mr. Black got out and walked — 
or waded along the dusty roadside; and some- 
times they pushed the Whale when that weary 
leviathan threatened to stick. At length, how- 
ever, the dusty car lurched heavily into the 
grateful shade of a fine forest road, carpeted 
smoothly with pine needles and the decaying 
leaves of oak, maple, and elm trees, whose 
branches, green and lovely with spring foliage, 
met overhead. 

‘"Oh,” breathed Bettie, lying back luxuri- 
ously among her cushions, ‘‘ isn't this just 
beautiful ! '' 


1 8 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

‘‘ Let's go slowly," pleaded Mrs. Crane. 
“ It's years since I've seen such woods. I 
declare ! I'd like to stay right here." 

‘‘ I guess the mosquitoes 'd be glad to have 
you," said Mr. Black. “Are all those girls 
aboard? They won't need to do any walking 
as long as this lasts — it was made for the 
Whale!" 

Unfortunately, the beautifully smooth 
ground stretched before them for only a few 
precious moments, though the forest itself 
grew wilder and more interesting at every turn 
of the wheels. After a time, the road began 
to dip steadily downward. Presently the 
Whale was sliding over clay, pushing through 
deep, clinging mire, splashing through puddles 
of stagnant water, or bumping over stretches 
of half-submerged corduroy. 

“ Peter," said Mrs. Crane, rather nervously, 
when her patient, elderly brother had climbed 
out for the fourth time to pull long ropes of 
tangled weeds out of the wheels, “ don't you 
think we'd better give up and turn back? It's 
getting worse and worse." 


The Troubled Whale 19 

‘‘ No/' returned Mr. Black, “ I don’t. I 
started out to look at that land and Fm going 
to find it. Besides, Timothy Burbank drove 
over this road this spring and he says it’s open 
all the way to Barclay’s Point — my place is a 
mile this side of Barclay’s.” 

“ But Timothy rode in a buckboard.” 

“ He said he guessed the Whale could make 
it and Fve no reason to doubt his word. Any- 
how, we’re going on — we’re so muddy now 
that a little more won’t hurt us; and there’s 
one comfort; there are no steep precipices on 
this road for us to tumble from.” 

It was fortunate, too, that Mr. Black car- 
ried a hatchet, because several times it became 
necessary to chop fallen trees — ^luckily they 
were small ones — out of the road; and once it 
was necessary to repair a broken bridge; but 
the girls, who helped with that, thoroughly 
enjoyed the task. Occasionally, the Whale 
was obliged to ford a certain small river that 
crossed the road an astonishing number of 
times. Also, with increasing frequency, Mr. 
Black was obliged to crawl under the car to 


20 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

see what was the matter with the machinery; 
but, on the whole, the Whale behaved sur- 
prisingly well. 

Presently the road which, up to that mo- 
ment, had stretched mainly toward the north, 
turned sharply toward the east. 

‘‘ Ah ! breathed Mr. Black, with a deep 
sigh of satisfaction. “ Timothy says our place 
is just three miles from this turn. Does any- 
body want to go back now? ” 

Nobody did, so the Whale pushed on; and, 
wonder of wonders! For a whole delightful 
mile the road was good, alluringly good. The 
big car fairly pranced with pleasure, and all 
the passengers settled back comfortably 
against the cushions. But after that one de- 
ceiving mile! Never was there a more dis- 
couraging stretch of road — if it were road. 
Sunken boulders, slime-covered water, deep 
black mud, rotting corduroy, jutting logs, 
weed-grown swamp. The Whale’s passengers 
were jounced and jolted, spattered and 
scratched. Low-growing branches slapped 
their faces and reached maliciously for un- 




The Troubled Whale 

21 


guarded tresses. Altogether, this final two 
miles of wilderness surpassed all the rest — 
suppose there were no bottom to that mud! 
Even Henrietta was too frightened for speech. 

Finally the Whale, with a last despairing 
gasp that died away to an alarming silence, re- 
fused to go a single inch farther. 

“ It’s all out for everybody,” said Mr. Black, 
who now looked as concerned as the others. 
‘‘ Something's given out — it’s not surprising.” 

“ But,” objected Mrs. Crane, “ how are we 
to get home ? ” 

“ Hush, woman,” returned Mr. Black, 
whimsically, “ folks on their way to a picnic 
don’t talk about going home. Let’s get there 
first.” 

'' Why I ” cried light-footed Marjory, who 
had darted ahead and back again with her 
news, “we’re out of that swamp, anyway. 
This road goes right uphill and it’s sandy.” 

“ Good I ” exclaimed Mr. Black. “ That 
means that we’re almost there. Come back, 
Marjory, and get your share of the load; every- 
body must carry something. Bettie, can you 


22 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

walk half a mile if you’re helped over the 
rough places ? ” 

‘‘ A whole mile if I have to — I’m not tired.” 

The air,” remarked Jean, sniffing curi- 
ously, when the party had reached the top of 
the brief ascent, “ smells different. My ! Isn’t 
it good ! I feel it way down inside of me.” 

‘‘ It’s the lake,” explained Mr. Black. ‘‘ In 
less than ten minutes you’re going to see some- 
thing.” 

The prediction proved true. In a very few 
moments the road branched, the right fork led 
them north, then swerved again toward the 
east, the forest stopped with a suddenness that 
was startling, and the picnic found itself in 
a wide, grassy clearing at the very edge of 
the big, blue lake. The bigness and the blue- 
ness were dazzling. The curved beach 
stretched like a broad golden ribbon in either 
direction. 

‘‘ This,” said Mr. Black, ‘‘ is the place.” 

Oh, Peter ! ” cried Mrs. Crane, dropping 
her end of the heaviest hamper. “ How much 
of it is ours?” 




The Troubled Whale 

23 


Every scrap. All that you can see.” 
What ! Down to that rocky point ? ” 

** Yes, and up the other way to that other 
rocky point — a whole mile of shore line.” 

“ And the island off that little projection — 
is that ours ? ” 

Every inch of it.” 

“Why, Peter!” 

“Fine, isn’t it? We own a river, too — 
there’s the mouth of it down the shore. What 
do you think of it all, Sarah? ” 

“ Peter, it’s — it’s heaven I ” 

“ And uninhabited,” declared Mr. Black, 
supposing that he was speaking the exact truth, 
“ except for our seven selves.” 

There was, however, an eighth inhabitant; 
and a human one at that. But for the time 
being no one suspected it. 


CHAPTER III 


B ipreDicament 

“jpETER/’ queried Mrs. Crane, what 
time is it? I’m starved.'* 

Mr. Black looked at his watch, at first ex- 
pectantly, then ruefully. 

“ The thing’s stopped,” said he, shaking it. 
“ I dropped it out a couple of times when I 
was under the Whale, and once it struck a 
boulder. It stopped at half-past twelve.” 

'' An hour ago ? ” 

It might be two hours — or even three ! 
Girls, did you bring a watch — any of you?” 

I did,” said Henrietta, but I wound it 
to practise by without setting it, so it’s probably 
wrong — it usually is. It says quarter to nine ! ” 
“ It certainly is wrong. I know it’s dinner 
time — or worse. Sarah ” 

Build a fire, Peter — there’s plenty of wood 
on the beach. I brought a coffee pot and you’ll 
find a box of matches in it. Jean, spread the 
cloth that’s in one of those hampers — the 
24 




A Predicament 

25 


ground’s nice and smooth right there at your 
feet. You’ll find wooden plates and tin cups 
under the cloth. Marjory, you can fish for 
the sugar and cream and the salad. Mabel, 
you — no. I’ll cut the bread myself; you can 
pick up bits of wood for the fire.” 

“ There are two big apple pies and some 
cheese in my basket,” said Jean, “ and — yes, a 
bag of cookies ! ” 

‘‘ Here are my sandwiches,” said Henrietta. 

‘‘Just loads of them; and a big veal loaf 

Oh ! It smells so good ! ” 

“ Aunty Jane sent a huge crock of beans and 
some cold ham,” said Marjory, “ and here’s 
a jar of something — ^pickles, I guess.” 

“ There’s a box of things,” said Mr. Black, 
“ fruit, cookies, crackers, sardines, peanut but- 
ter, and a thing or two in cans still aboard the 
Whale, but I guess, with all this good home 
cooking, we won’t need it just yet — anyway, 
I’d rather look at the lake than go after it.” 

“ Can’t I take off my shoes and wade out 
for the coffee water ? ” pleaded Mabel. “ I 
love to wade.” 


26 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

‘‘Of course you can/’ replied Mrs. Crane. 
“ Here’s the pail — I’ll take the doughnuts out 
of it.” 

“What’s this?” asked Mr. Black, holding 
up a flat, heavy parcel. 

“ A piece of bacon — I thought we might 
need bacon and eggs in addition to our salad 
— I brought a flat pan to fry them in. And 
here are salt and pepper.” 

“ Well! ” laughed Mr. Black, as parcel after 
parcel came out of the tightly packed hampers, 
“ I guess we’ll have to set up a grocery store 
and sell stuff to the squirrels — we can’t possi- 
bly eat all this at one meal.” 

“ Don’t be too sure,” warned Bettie. “ I’m 
pretty hungry. Mother put in a can of cocoa 
and a little saucepan to cook it in — and here’s 
a pint of milk.’' 

“We’ll make the cocoa and coffee,” de- 
cided Mrs. Crane, “and eat the sandwiches 
and other ready-made things. We won’t 
bother to do any other cooking; and, I must 
say, I’m glad we don’t need to. I never was 
so hungry.” 


A Predicament 27 

Everybody it seemed was on the verge of 
starvation. The Whale’s passengers ate and 
ate and ate. Even Ambrosial Delight, the 
three-colored cat, drank milk as if he had al- 
ways lived on the lake shore and dined from 
wooden plates. After dinner, every one, ex- 
cept Bettie, who was compelled by solicitous 
Mrs. Crane to curl up with the kitten under 
a tree for a nap, went exploring. 

That was great fun, for exploring is inter- 
esting, anyway, even if you haven’t anything 
bigger to explore than your own back yard. 
But when you have a whole wilderness, with 
a little of every kind of landscape there is 
dotted about, here and there; and always so 
unexpectedly that you don’t know what you’re 
coming to next, exploring becomes just the 
very j oiliest pursuit there is. 

In the first place, there was the large, grassy 
clearing where they had eaten dinner. This 
place was almost circular in shape and as big, 
Bettie said, as a whole city block. In it were 
a few scattered trees ; but, for the greater part, 
it was open and almost perfectly level. On 


28 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

one side was the lake; the other three sides 
were walled in by most attractive forest. 

A number of little trails led from the clear- 
ing into the woods. Each one, they found, 
pointed toward some definite object. One, for 
instance, carried them to a tiny spring of clear, 
gurgling water. Another led them to what was 
evidently a good fishing spot on the river. A 
third brought them to a tiny unsuspected lake, 
dotted with lily pads. 

‘‘ This,” said quick-eyed Marjory, pointing 
northwestward, when the explorers had re- 
turned for the third time to the sunny clearing, 
‘‘ is the widest trail of all.” 

For my part,” said Mr. Black, ‘‘ I don’t 
know why there should be any trails here at 
all. No one has lived here for four years. 
Sometimes fishermen come here in gasoline 
launches for a few days in the spring, or hunt- 
ers for a week or two in the fall, but never 
in sufficient numbers to make as marked a trail 
as this — we must certainly investigate this 
one.” 

This wider trail led them for perhaps a hun- 




A Predicament 

29 


dred feet through a dense thicket of shrub- 
bery; then, with a suddenness that was start- 
ling, the explorers found themselves in an- 
other clearing, about half the size of the first. 
In it stood a curious structure with a rounded 
top. It was built of bent strips of wood, cov- 
ered with large sheets of rough birch bark, 
bound in place with willow withes, and sewed 
in spots with buckskin thongs. It was black- 
ened with age and smoke. 

It looks,'’ said Henrietta, ‘‘ like the top 
half of a big balloon. And mercy! How hor- 
rible it smells.” 

‘‘ What is it? ” asked Mabel. ‘‘ Is it a bear’s 
den? Ugh! I hope Mr. Bear isn’t home.” 

‘‘ It’s a birch-bark wigwam,” replied Mr. 
Black, ‘‘ and somebody has occupied it recently. 
See the bed in the corner ? ” 

Sure enough, there was a bed — some balsam 
boughs covered with a dingy blanket and some 
rags that had once been a quilt. On an up- 
turned box was a burlap bag containing pota- 
toes and a few perfectly sound onions. A 
deer-skin was stretched to dry against one 


30 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

rounded side of the wigwam and just opposite 
the doorway of the queer hut were a nuijiber 
of blackened stones, evidently a rude fireplace. 
Hanging against a convenient tree-trunk were 
some sooty and most uninviting cooking uten- 
sils; a camp kettle, a frying-pan, a lard pail 
or two, a big iron pot, a long-handled spoon. 

“ It isn’t a great while,” said Mr. Black, 
frowning perplexedly, since these things were 
used. But who. I’d like to know, used them ? ” 

“ Wild Indians,” offered Marjory, glancing 
fearfully over her shoulder. 

Pirates,” shuddered Mabel. 

‘‘ A wild man of the jungle,” suggested im- 
aginative Henrietta. 

“ Perhaps you’re all partly right,” admitted 
Mr. Black. ‘‘ I believe these things belong to a 
filthy half-breed, trapping game out of sea- 
son. If / catch him at it, it will be some time 
before he has a chance to try it again. Per- 
haps he’ll come back this afternoon. Now, 
girls, let’s go back to the lake — ^this place cer- 
tainly does smell ‘ injun-y ’ — ^there’s no other 
smell quite like it.” 




A Predicament 

31 


“Can’t we all go in wading?” demanded 
Mabel. “ The water’s pretty cold, but it’s nice 
— makes your toes all pink.” 

“Of course you can. There isn’t any dan- 
ger, because the water is shallow for a long, 
long distance ; and the sand is as hard and clean 
as the very cleanest thing you can think of.” 

“Marble!” cried Mabel. 

“ Aunty Jane’s house! ” shouted Marjory. 

“ Yes,” laughed Mr. Black, “even as clean 
as that. Now, away with you all. But keep 
within hearing distance. I’m going to rest 
awhile under this pleasant tree.” 

“ And I,” murmured Mrs. Crane, drowsily, 
“ am going to take a nap under this tree — I 
can’t stay awake a moment longer.” 

Presently Bettie, the kitten, and Mrs. Crane 
were all sound asleep; and, from Mr. Black’s 
leafy shelter, a sound closely resembling gen- 
tle snores proved most interesting to a puzzled 
chipmunk, who had a pantry in that tree. The 
chipmunk even perched on Mr. Black’s toe to 
listen; but the good, weary gentleman slum- 
bered unheedingly. 


32 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Jean, Marjory, Mabel, and Henrietta were 
having a glorious time in the rippling blue lake. 
When they were tired of splashing about to 
scare the abundant minnows, they built won- 
derful castles in the sand. Mabel’s were square 
and solid, like Mabel herself; Jean’s were lofty 
with aspiring towers and turrets, and Henri- 
etta’s were honeycombed with fearsome dun- 
geons. Marjory built long streets of tiny, 
modern, and excessively neat dwellings. 

After that, they discovered that the beach 
near the river’s mouth was strewn with peb- 
bles of every hue known to pebbles. There 
were agates, bits of glittering quartz and 
granite, and many brown, green, or yellow 
stones threaded prettily with a network of 
white. They wanted to gather them all to 
carry back to Bettie, but contented themselves 
with about a bushel — all that their four skirts 
would hold. But they found to their surprise 
that they were anchored to the ground; that it 
wasn’t possible to rise with the heavy burden. 
As for carrying the glittering hoard, that was 
clearly impossible, too; so they heaped their 


A Predicament 33 

treasurf5 on the sand and ran to look at the 
river where it joined the lake. 

Never was there a more companionable 
river. At the mouth it was only a yard wide 
and just deep enough to cover one’s ankles. A 
little way up, it spread out as wide as a street, 
but there it barely covered one’s toes. Far- 
ther up, there were big, mossrcovered stones 
and the water grew perceptibly deeper — up to 
one’s knees. Still further, and the river grew 
wide and deep and darkly mysterious, where 
great trees cast brown and green shadows over 
the russet surface. 

Ugh ! ” shuddered Henrietta, at this point, 
‘‘ let’s go back — I like it better where it’s nar- 
row.” 

So do I,” agreed Jean. ‘‘If there were 
crocodiles in this part of the country, that’s 
where they’d live.” 

“ Let’s build a bridge across the narrowest 
place,” proposed Marjory. 

All about were stones and driftwood. The 
girls built a beautiful bridge and sat after- 
wards on the beach to admire their handiwork; 


34 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

but very soon the quiet water stealthily 
washed the sand away from the foundation 
stones and in a little while the river’s mouth 
was twice as wide as it had been before the 
bridge, now floating lakeward, was built. 

I could stay here forever,” said Henri- 
etta, there are so many things to do — nice, 
foolish things, like sand-castles, bridges that 
float away, and stones that look like diamonds 
when they’re wet and like just stones when 
they’re dry. I’d like to live here.” 

‘‘ So would I,” agreed Jean. 

“ Wouldn’t it be nice,” asked Marjory, ‘‘ if 
we could come here to camp.?” 

“ We’re here now,” returned matter-of-fact 
Mabel. Let’s pretend we really are camp- 
ing.” 

Look at the lake ! ” exclaimed Jean, sud- 
denly. “ It isn’t blue any more — it’s all gray 
and silver.” 

‘'And all the ripples are gone,” observed 
Henrietta. " See how flat and smooth it is 
and how lazy it is along the edges. And the 
sand is turning pink ! ” 




A Predicament 

35 


‘‘ Hush ! ” warned quick-eared Marjory. “ I 
think Mr. Black’s calling us — yes, he’s wav- 
ing the tablecloth! ” 

After they had picked their way rather pain- 
fully over the bed of sharp pebbles, the bare- 
footed girls ran gaily along the hard, smooth 
beach — they were surprised to find themselves 
so far from their foot-gear. 

** Mr. Black seems excited,” remarked Jean. 
“ I wonder if anything has happened.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Henrietta, soberly, it’s 
time to go home.” 

It can't be,” protested Mabel. “ We’ve 
only just come — anyway, it seems so.” 

That,” explained Jean, sagely, ‘‘ is because 
this is the very nicest spot that ever grew.” 

“ Hurry! ” shouted Mr. Black; ‘‘ don’t wait 
to put on your shoes — just bring them along.” 


CHAPTER IV 


B mgbt 0\it 

TEAN/^ queried Mr. Black, when the four 

J rather disheveled youngsters had scram- 
bled up the bank, '' have you girls seen any- 
thing of a boat? ” 

“ No,” replied Jean. 

Have you been on the shore all the time ? ” 
Every minute.” 

“ I didn’t see a boat,” o^ered Henrietta, 
'' but about half an hour ago — or perhaps an 
hour — I heard something that made a noise 
like this : ‘ chug-chug, chuggity-chug, chug- 
chug-chuggity-chug ’ ” — Henrietta gave a very 
fair imitation of a naptha launch. 

‘‘ I heard it, too,” admitted Margery. 

“ That was the boat,” said Mr. Blank, scan- 
ning the forsaken lake anxiously. It’s Hil- 
litt’s fish-tug and it goes down to Lakeville at 
sundown every day when the weather’s fair. 
The tug runs to Bear Bay. I expected to go 
36 




A Night Out 

37 


home on that boat; but, unfortunately, I went 
to sleep and didn’t wake up in time to signal 
her.” 

She was very far out,” volunteered Jean. 
“You couldn’t have seen her from here — I 
looked in every direction when I heard that 
noise, but I couldn’t see what was making it.” 

thought,” confessed Marjory, “that it 
was some sort of an animal breathing queerly 
— I didn’t exactly like it.” 

“ Evidently,” said Mr. Black, “ that boat 
stayed a long way from shore — sound carries 
a great distance over water. Anyway, that 
eases my conscience a little. I ought not to 
have fallen asleep, but I didn’t suspect that 
it was so late. You see, girls, our time is all 
off. Goodness only knows how long it took 
us to get here; and I’m sure I don’t know 
whether it was one, two, or three when we ate 
our dinner. Now, what do you think that big, 
golden sun’s doing — over there behind those 
trees ? ” 

“ I think,” said Henrietta, eying it, sagely, 
“that it’s either going down or coming up. 


38 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

And I know it can’t be time for it to come 
up.” 

‘‘And it can’t possibly be time,” protested 
Mabel, “ for it to go down.” 

“ I fear it is,” said Mr. Black. “ I ought 
never to have taken that nap.” 

“ Peter,” demanded Mrs. Crane, suddenly 
joining the group, “ how are we ever going to 
get home ? ” 

“ Sarah,” replied Mr. Black, with one of 
his sweet, whimsical smiles, “ I’m blest if I 
know.” 

“ But, Peter, it’s too far to walk; and the 
Whale ” 

“But, Sarah, I fully intended to go home 
by boat. I was told that that boat passed here 
every day. Well, it has passed, hasn’t it? ” 

“ Yes,” admitted Mrs. Crane, dryly, “ it 
passed all right.” 

“ When the Whale broke down,” continued 
Mr. Black, soothingly, “I said to myself, 

‘ Never mind, old chap, there’s Hillitt’s launch 
— we’ll hail that and ride home.’ ” 

“ And when you assured us that you knew 


A Night Out 39 

of a safe and easy way to get home, you were 
depending on that boat ! ” 

“ Sarah, don't rebuke me. I was. But, hav- 
ing committed that fatal error. I’m willing to 
atone for it. Hi there, girls! We’ll all have 
to work for our living for the next hour or 
so. You see, good people, we’ll probably have 
to stay here all night unless somebody sees our 
fire on the shore. Jean, I’m going to take 
you and Henrietta to the Whale so you can 
help me rob him of his lanterns and cushions. 
Sarah, I want you and the girls to take this 
hatchet, my knife, the bread-knife, and any- 
thing else that is sharp, and cut as many bal- 
sam boughs as you can from that grove of 
evergreens over there — I want a whole wagon 
load. Bettie, you can sit here on this log 
and fill these two hamper-covers with chips — 
we’ll need a lot of firewood.” 

Presently Mr. Black and his two companions 
were back with all the comforts that could be 
stripped from the Whale. Dropping them near 
the baskets of wood and the growing pile of 
evergreen boughs, he went down to the beach. 


40 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

to select several tall poles from the half-buried 
driftwood that past storms had heaped behind 
the numerous big logs framing the upper edge 
of the beach. 

Having dug holes with a sharp stick, Mr. 
Black planted the poles in an upright position; 
and the sand, fortunately, held them firmly. 
More poles were fastened securely across the 
top; luckily Jean remembered seeing a tangle 
of buckskin thongs hanging in the birch-bark 
wigwam; Mr. Black appropriated those. 
Along the beach were many odd lengths of 
lumber cast up by a long series of storms; 
these, too, were tied to the poles or securely 
braced against them; for the castaways had no 
nails. 

The tablecloth — fortunately a generous one 
as to size — was fastened on top for a roof. 
This curious shack, when completed, was six 
feet wide by about seventeen feet long. Three 
sides were inclosed, but the fourth, the long 
side facing the south, was left open. 

We’ll build a fire outside,” said Mr. Black, 
to keep our toes warm.” 


A Night Out 41 

The entire floor space inside the shack was 
covered with balsam boughs. Mr. Black 
showed the girls how to make them stand up- 
right like a forest of tiny trees — the twigs 
were about fourteen inches long. 

“ It’ll be almost like a mattress and springs,” 
assured he, “ when you have it finished. The 
Whale has provided three light dust-covers and 
three fairly heavy robes — we’ll use those for 
bedding.” 

But,” objected Marjory, who was not at 
all sure that she was going to like the queer 
bed that Mr. Black was making, we haven’t 
any pillows.” 

“ I guess,” teased Mr. Black, you’ll have to 
use your shoes — campers always do.” 

‘‘The woods are full of pillows,” assured 
Bettie, who was helping with the balsam twigs. 
“ There’s running pine on the ground under 
the trees, a lot of nice green moss on the logs, 
all sorts of big, soft ferns; and whole bushels 
of leaves on the trees.” 

“ That’s right,” commented Mr. Black. 
, “ Suppose you girls gather about seven pillows 


42 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

— good big ones because the stuff will pack 
down — off the nearest pillow-tree; and I’ll see 
if I can’t find another wide board or two.” 

Where,” asked thoughtful Jean, do all 
the pieces of lumber come from ? ” 

‘‘ There’s a sawmill at Big Bear Harbor, 
some fifteen miles north of here. I suppose a 
good many boards get lost through careless 
handling. None of this is first-class lumber, 
however. This plank, you see, is full of knot- 
holes. This one is hemlock and has two long 
splits in it.” 

‘‘ I guess there’s a shingle-mill somewhere, 
too,” said Bettie. “ Mabel picked up a whole 
basketful of pieces of brand-new shingles.” 

Sarah,” said Mr. Black, turning to his sis- 
ter, who still seemed rather stunned at the idea 
of spending a night in the woods, ‘‘ you’d bet- 
ter fix some supper for us before it gets too 
dark. Now that we have a house to live in, 
we must have regular meals.” 

“ What’s that lean-to at the side for ? ” asked 
Mrs. Crane, pointing to the row of boards that 
rested against one end of the shack, forming 


A Night Out 


43 


a triangular space about four feet wide by six 
feet long. 

“ For me and the provisions,” explained 
Mr. Black. I never did like sleeping seven 
in a bed. And, in case it should rain, we must 
keep our food dry.” 

It's lucky,” said Mrs. Crane, touching a 
match to the neat fire that she had laid, ‘‘ that 
we all brought more of everything to eat than 
we needed. And Fm glad I brought my old 
gray shawl; it’s as warm as a blanket.” 

“If it turns cold,” said Mr. Black, “ we’ll 
build a big fire just outside the open end of 
our house. But I think it’s going to be a com- 
fortably warm night There, I’ve got that 

plank fastened at last and our palatial home 
is finished. And bless me! Here comes the 
pillow brigade with all its petticoats turned 
into pillow-cases; and the brigade all giggling. 
They’re certainly a happy lot, Sarah.” 

“ Mine’s for Mr. Black,” shouted Mabel. 

“ Mine’s for Mrs. Crane,” shrieked Mar- 
jory. 

“And mine,” said extravagant Henrietta, 


44 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

dropping to her knees before Bettie, and prof- 
fering her lace-trimmed burden, ‘‘ is for the 
Lady Bettina, with the devotion of her hum- 
blest slave.” 

I guess,” said Mr. Black, eying the roof of 
his house, ruefully, that we’ll have to eat 
without a tablecloth. Sarah, how’s that sup- 
per?” 

“Just about ready,” said Mrs. Crane, stir- 
ring the cocoa with a long, clean stick. “ The 
water will boil in a moment or two and Jean 
is cutting the bread.” 

The sun, red and glorious at the last, had 
gone down; but, while the campers, seated in 
a circle about the two dish-towels that Mrs. 
Crane had spread for a cloth, were eating their 
ample and delicious meal, the sky was so won- 
derful and the lake so marvelous with its calm 
♦ 

surface touched lightly to burnished copper, 
that the castaways all but forgot that they were 
castaways, until Mr. Black brought them back 
to earth. 

“ There’s only one thing that troubles me,” 
said he, “ and that’s the mothers and grand- 


A Night Out 


45 


mothers and Aunty Janes that we left in Lake- 
ville/’ 

‘‘ Yes,” agreed Mrs. Crane, pouring a second 
cup of cocoa for Bettie, ‘‘ they’re sure to worry. 
No matter how far we’ve gone in the Whale, 
we’ve always been home by bedtime.” 

“ And I can’t recall,” said Mr. Black, run- 
ning his fingers through his thick, iron-gray 
hair, ‘‘ that I told a single soul exactly where 
I was going.” 

‘‘ And none of the rest of us knew” re- 
torted his sister. “ I’ve said, a great many 
times, that your fondness for surprising us 
would get us into trouble some day, and it 
has,” 

“ But it’s pretty nice trouble,” offered Bettie, 
the peacemaker. ‘‘ Of course all our grown- 
ups will worry, because grown-ups always do, 
anyway. But I’m sure they’ll remember that 
you’ve never lost any of us yet, or starved us, 
or let us freeze.” 

“ Granny will think,” assured Henrietta, 
giggling at the thought, ‘'that we’re staying 
at a hotel, waiting for repairs on the Whale. 


46 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

She always thinks of hotels as a safe refuge 
for the homeless — she couldn’t imagine a spot 
without a convenient hotel.” 

“ Well, if nothing rescues us to-night,” 
promised Mr. Black, “ I’ll walk to Barclay’s 
Point at six to-morrow morning and hail that 
fish-boat. It leaves Lakeville six times a week 
at daybreak.” 

Their meal ended, the castaways sat in a cir- 
cle about the big driftwood fire that Mr. Black 
built on the beach. Even Ambrosial Delight 
enjoyed the unusual evening. He ran round 
and round the group, just at the edge of the 
darkness, chasing nocturnal insects or the shad- 
ows cast by the flickering firelight; and once, 
greatly to his own surprise and to the camp- 
ers’ amusement, he leaped from a jutting log 
into the smooth, glassy lake. After that sur- 
prising experience, he was willing to lie cud- 
dled in Henrietta’s lap. 

When it became evident that nobody could 
stay awake any longer, Mrs. Crane tucked all 
her little charges — even to the kitten — away 
for the night. 


A Night Out 


47 


‘‘ Fm so sleepy,” yawned Mabel, that I 
could sleep on cobblestones.” 

“ We’ll leave a big place for you, Mrs. 
Crane,” promised Jean, thoughtfully, and 
we’ll remember not to lean too hard against 
the walls.” 

Ugh ! ” exclaimed Marjory, isn’t it 
queer without sheets ! ” 

“ This bed feels good to me/* murmured 
Bettie, drowsily. 

“ Not a word more from anybody,” said Mr. 
Black, who had donned his fur automobile coat 
and was crawling like a big shaggy bear into 
his triangular den. “ It’s time all honest peo- 
ple were asleep.” 

“ I just wish,” murmured Mrs. Crane, 
stretching herself luxuriously upon her fra- 
grant balsam bed, '' that all those mothers could 
see how safe and comfortable we are. They’ll 
surely worry.” 

‘‘They surely will,” agreed Mr. Black, 
drowsily, ‘‘ for it’s an unheard-of thing, in 
Lakeville, for a picnic to stay out all night. 
It’s a calamity, but it can’t be helped.” 


48 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

And then, never guessing that to a certain 
about-to-be-shipwrecked boy their going home 
at the proper time would have proved a far 
greater calamity, the castaways closed their 
eyes. 


CHAPTER V 


^be Abisaing mbale 

'^JNFORTUNATELY, the three mothers, 
Henrietta’s grandmother, and Aunty 
Jane could not look into that queer chicken- 
coop of a house to see their precious chickens 
sleeping the sound, sweet sleep that life in 
the open induces. 

Still, the evening was so very fine that no 
one was surprised because of the prolonged 
outing — that is, at first. But when nine o’clock 
came and the Whale failed to appear, Mrs. 
Slater, Henrietta’s grandmother, telephoned to 
Mr. Black’s unresponsive house, and then to 
Jean’s mother, Mrs. Mapes. Mrs. Mapes oblig- 
ingly ran in to ask Marjory’s Aunty Jane if 
anything had been seen of the delayed Whale; 
and then both ladies scurried to the rectory 
to ask Doctor Tucker if he knew the where- 
abouts of the Whale — or the Whale’s passen- 
gers. Of course he didn’t; so he and Mrs. 
Tucker went with the inquiring pair to Doctor 
49 


50 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Bennett’s to ask if Mabel had returned. Nat- 
urally, she hadn’t, so, joined by Mabel’s now 
mildly anxious parents, they all went — just 
like persons in a moving-picture show. Doctor 
Bennett said afterwards — to Mrs. Slater’s 
house to ask what she thought about it. They 
found her anxiously watching the clock. 

Mrs. Slater promptly sent Simmons, the 
butler, to order her carriage, in which the en- 
tire party, somewhat crowded it is true, was 
speedily transported to Mr. Black’s home, 
where they found Martin waiting in the lighted 
garage. 

“ Where,” asked Doctor Bennett, is your 
master ? ” 

‘‘ Sure,” returned Martin^ pulling politely at 
a long lock of sandy hair, ‘‘ that’s what I'd like 
to know. ’Tis a lonely evenin’ I’m spendin’ 
without even a horse for company.” 

‘'Does his automobile ever break down?” 
queried Aunty Jane, a thin woman with very 
sharp eyes and other features to match. 

" It never has, mum; but most of ’em does, 
sooner or later. Still, Mr. Black is always 


The Missing Whale 51 

careful — he’d be likely to choose a safe spot to 
break down in.” 

“ He said,” offered Doctor Tucker, that he 
was going to look at some land of his — where 
is his land ? ” 

“ Sure,” returned Martin, with a gesture 
that included the entire horizon, he has land 
anywhere you’d want to look — he owns a pile 
of rale estate, they say. When annybody 
wants a little money, he just sells his land, 
back taxes and all, to that aisy-going man. 
He don’t know where his land is; it’s iv’ry- 
where. But wheriver he’s gone he can’t 
starve, for Mrs. Crane and Bridget cooked all 
day yesterday; and he can’t freeze because 
there’s three big robes and a fur coat.” 

‘‘ But what can be keeping him ? ” asked 
Mrs. Tucker. ‘‘ He knows that Bettie ought to 
be in bed by nine.” 

“ Most like it’s a busted tire — ’tis time wan 
was givin’ out. If he wasn’t smart enough to 
put the new one on — and belike he isn’t, him 
not bein’ used to the job — why, there he is, 
laid out in the road.” 


52 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

But all our girls are with him,” protested 
Mrs. Bennett. There’s seven in the party. 

Our five children ” 

The more the merrier,” consoled Martin, 
comfortably. ‘‘ Even if two or three was 
spilled overboard, there’d be four left to 
spread the tale. Depind on it, ladies — and 
your Riverince — they’re safe somewhere, or 
we’d hear the bad news. That’s the kind that 
travels fastest.” 

‘‘ I think Martin is right,” agreed Doctor 
Tucker, mildly. ‘‘ I’m quite sure that they’re 
all safe, somewhere; at some farm, perhaps, 
where there’s no telephone. Even if those girls 
were alone they’d manage to make themselves 
comfortable somehow — just remember what 
they did to Dandelion Cottage.” 

They’re smart enough,” agreed Mrs. 
Mapes, “ and they are all resourceful. And 
Mrs. Crane is with them. If they haven’t all 

plunged over some embankment ” 

Not Mr. Black, mum,” assured Martin. 
“ He’s that careful and slow that I’m ashamed 
to be seen ridin’ with him. Why, mum, whin 


The Missing Whale 53 

I’m in the Whale I feel just like a baby in a 
go-cart.” 

Their fears somewhat allayed by optimistic 
Martin, the parents and guardians of the casta- 
ways, after waiting hopefully until midnight, 
finally dispersed and went to bed, for there 
was really nothing else to do; but the passen- 
gers of the missing Whale spent a far happier 
and more peaceful night than did their anxious 
relatives; for the castaways, at least, knew 
that they were alive and unharmed. 

The morning sun was shining brightly when 
Ambrosial Delight, who had escaped at dawn, 
chased a frightened chipmunk into Mr. Black’s 
triangular den and roused that recumbent gen- 
tleman from the soundest sleep he had had in 
years. 

“ Great Scott ! ” exclaimed the * surprised 
man, sitting up under his bias roof, “ the stars 
were shining when I looked out last ! It must 
be seven or eight o’clock. Hi there, Sarah! 
Jean! Girls! Has that fish-boat gone up the 
lake?” 

‘‘ Yes, yes, Bridget,” murmured Mrs. Crane, 


54 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

sleepily. “ We’ll have creamed shrimps 
and ” 

“ Sarah ! ” shouted Mr. Black, wake up ! 
You’ve made me miss that boat again.” 

So Mrs. Crane woke up, and presently the 
girls, with sleepy eyes and tousled heads, 
crawled out, one by one, to blink in the daz- 
zling sunshine. 

“ Run down to the lake,” advised Mr. Black, 
and wash your faces — ^that’ll wake you up.” 

So the girls waded out and washed in the 
finest basin in the world, made friends with 
a courageous squirrel who was also bathing 
his face, and combed their tangled locks with 
Henrietta’s side-combs. 

“If you hadn’t brought these,” observed 
Jean, “ we’d have been in a fine fix.” 

“ Anyhow,” giggled Marjory, wiggling her 
pink toes, delightedly, “ there’s water enough.” 

“ Bettie,” cried Mrs. Crane, from the bank, 
“come out of that lake! You’re a sick 
girl 

“ I’m not, either,” contradicted Bettie, in- 
dignantly. “ I feel just fine.” 




The Missing Whale 

55 


I’m glad to hear it,” returned motherly 
Mrs. , Crane, but I don’t want you to take 
any risks. You’ve been in long enough.” 

“ All right,” agreed Bettie, regretfully. 
‘‘ I’ll come out, just to be good, but I don’t 
want to one bit.” 

‘'Isn’t this just heaven!” breathed Jean, 
ecstatically, extending her arms as if she would 
embrace the whole beautiful universe. “ Look 
at that water — pearl-gray, with pink and gold 
sparkles all spangled over the top ! It’s a dif- 
ferent color every time you look at it. I love 
it.” 

“ So do I,” said Bettie, from the beach. “ I 
wish I were a fish and could live in it.” 

“ But then,” objected Henrietta, “ you 
couldn’t see it — I’d rather be a sea-gull.” 

“She’s making puns,” groaned Marjory. 
“ Hurry up with that comb, Mabel; it’s my 
turn next.” 

“ Hi there! ” called Mr. Black; “ who’s set- 
ting the table for breakfast? ” 

As the tablecloth was still serving as a roof, 
Mr. Black found a couple of clean boards that 


56 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

served very nicely in its stead. This was not 
difficult, since all the driftwood was most beau- 
tifully clean. So, too, was the sand. Even 
the soil under the trees, being free from clay, 
was clean, dry, and pleasant. One could sit 
on the ground without fear of dampness, dirt, 
or snakes. It was pleasant ground. 

This place,” said Mrs. Crane, who was 
boiling the coffee water, “ is absolutely dust- 
proof, I believe. Td like to live here all the 
time, if only to breathe this air.” 

Let’s stay,” pleaded Bettie. I don’t want 
to go home.” 

Neither do I,” said Mabel. 

‘‘ Nor I,” said Henrietta. 

“ Nor I,” echoed Marjory, who had fi- 
nally succeeded in braiding her long, fair 
hair. 

I guess,” said Mr. Black, ‘‘ we’ll have to 
stay for awhile, whether we want to or not. 
But, if we don’t turn up to-day, they’ll begin 
to hunt for us.” 

Oh,” groaned Henrietta, '' I hope not.” 

“ Peter,” said Mrs. Crane, we didn’t meet 


The Missing Whale 57 

a single soul on that road after we took the 
turn-off just out of Lakeville.” 

I don’t wonder,” returned Mr. Black. 

Nobody that could possibly travel by any 
other road would ever think of taking that one. 
I suspect that it hasn’t been used very much 
since Randall stopped lumbering at Barclay’s 
Point, six years ago. But, never fear, they’ll 
find us all right — we’re only seventeen miles 
from Lakeville.” 

But such miles,” breathed Mrs. Crane. 

Nobody ’d think of trying that road — they’d 
think we had more sense.” 

‘‘ Perhaps we should have had — perhaps I 
ought to have doubted Timothy. Anyway, we 
left tracks. If they look for us at all thor- 
oughly, they’ll surely find those.” 

“ That Timothy man,” suggested Jean. 

Wouldn’t he know ? ” 

“ Ye — es,” admitted Mr. Black, “ but when 
I asked him about that road he was just board- 
ing a train for Boston. But don’t worry. 
We’re not half as lost as we might be. In 
fact, we know exactly where we are.” 


58 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

The castaways had barely finished breakfast 
when sharp-eyed Marjory spied a small, dark 
object on the water, not far from Barclay’s 
Point. 

“ That wasn’t there yesterday,” said she, 
pointing it out to the others. 

It’s moving! ” cried Jean. 

Perhaps it’s more driftwood for our 
house,” suggested Bettie. 

“ Or a bear coming to eat us,” offered 
Mabel. 

“ It’s long and slim with a bump at one 
end,” explained Marjory. Something like 
a dead tree with one branch sticking up. Just 
a log, perhaps, but ” 

“ Anyway,” interrupted Jean, “ it’s coming 
this way and coming fast/' 


CHAPTER VI 


ITbe Comfna of 2)ave 

'■JpHE castaways, forgetting that there were 
dishes to be washed, stood in an eager 
row on the bank above the beach. The float- 
ing object continued to approach. Soon they 
could see why it moved; the blade of a broad 
paddle gleamed in the sunlight. 

“ It’s a boat ! ” cried Marjory. 

A canoe,” announced Mr. Black. ‘‘ See, 
one end is low, the other fairly out of the 
water. Let’s stand behind these bushes, girls 
— the shack is so far back that the man in 
the canoe won’t notice it if he doesn’t see the 
tablecloth. I’ll take it down, I guess. You 
see, there’s just a chance that that fellow might 
not land if he saw people here — and we need 
him in our business. We’ll be quiet, too. He 
seems to be making for this little bay.” 

The boat and its occupant were an even 
shade of dark brown, but the paddle gleamed 


59 


6o The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

golden in the sunshine. The canoe, skilfully 
propelled by a practised hand, shot rapidly 
toward the strip of sand at the very feet of 
the almost breathless watchers and, in a very 
few seconds more, was safely beached. A 
snarling, stealthy dog leaped ashore and began 
to sniff suspiciously at the sand; but his owner, 
fortunately, paid no attention to him. The 
paddler proved to be an Indian half-breed, 
bareheaded and clad only in shirt and trousers. 
His clothes were old and greasy, his bare brown 
feet far from clean. He flung from the canoe 
a fish-net, two dead muskrats, and, although 
it was out of season, a small saddle of venison. 
He spread the net on the sand to dry, threw 
the venison upon his shoulder, and climbed the 
bank. 

Mr. Black, stepping from the sheltering 
bush, met him when he reached the top. 

“ Good-morning,” said he. 

The startled Indian almost dropped his 
burden. 

“ Goo’-morn’,” he grunted, surlily. 

Why ! ” exclaimed Mr. Black, closely 


The Coming of Dave 6i 

scrutinizing the half-breed’s not very prepos- 
sessing countenance, “ I think I’ve met you 
before. You’re Dave Gurneau, the man I 
bought this land from.” 

“ Yass, I guess, mebbe-so,” returned Dave. 
“ You ol’ Pete Black, I t’ank so ? ” 

Yes,” admitted the gentleman, “ I’m old 
Pete Black. But what are you doing here? 
I thought I bought this land with the under- 
standing that you were to vacate it — ^leave it — 
get otf of it ? How long have you lived here ? ” 
The culprit wriggled his toes in the sand. 
Ever since Ah’m sell heem,” returned 
Dave, whose small black eyes were shifty. 

“ Well ! ” gasped Mr. Black, “ that’s nerve 
for you — stayed right here, did you ? ” 

“ Yass, Ah’m stay hon dose plass. Me, I 
must sell dese Ian’ to you so I can buy pro- 
veesion enough for leeve hon heem — som’ leetle 

onion, som’ potate, som’ flour ” 

“ You— you sold me the land so you could 
live on it ! ” 

“ Yass — Ah’m got to buy proveesion some- 
tarn’. You good, easy man, Ah’m tole.” 


62 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

He means easy mark,” breathed Mrs. 
Crane. 

‘‘ Well, I’ll be — switched,” declared Mr. 
Black, endeavoring to frown at guilty Dave; 
but, meeting Bettie’s dancing eyes, he laughed 
instead. 

‘‘ Dave,” said he, ‘‘ you’re an unprecedented 
rascal. You’ve caught my fish, picked my ber- 
ries, killed my game; but I’ll forgive you if 
you’ll do an errand for me. Do you think 
you could walk to Lakeville ? ” 

“ Sure t’ing,” replied Dave, whose shifty 
eyes had traveled speculatively from one to 
another of the group. “ Ah’m walk dere 
plantee tarn’. Got to sleep two-t’ree hour, den 
go.” 

Very well,” returned Mr. Black; ‘‘ I’d 
rather you’d start at once, but if you need 
sleep, you’d better get it now than on the way. 
I’ll write Saunders (Saunders was Mr. 
Black’s trusted secretary) to send a launch or 
a wagon for us and horses for the automo- 
bile.” 

“ Peter,” queried Mrs. Crane, wistfully, 


The Coming of Dave 63 

do we have to go home ? You know we 
talked of coming here to camp, anyway. Now 
that we’re here, why can’t we stay? I sup- 
pose it’s a crazy scheme; but that road is too 
rough to travel over very often, and you know 
I never did like the water — I’m always sea- 
sick. Saunders could send us all the things 
we need — ^tents and everything else. And all 
the parents would be willing — ^they were all 
in favor of a camping trip sometime. We’d 

write and explain ” 

Oh, do stay,” cried Jean. 

Oh, do” implored Bettie, flinging her arms 
about Mr. Black’s neck. 

''Please do,” begged Henrietta, impulsively 
seizing a hand. 

“ Oh, do, do, do” shrieked Marjory, seiz- 
ing the other hand. 

‘‘ I’ll wash all the dishes,” promised Mabel, 
throwing her arms about Mr. Black’s stout 
waist, ‘‘ and everybody knows that that’s a 
job I hate.” 

“ I’ll get fat,” promised Bettie. 

Now, Mr. Black was ever a warm-hearted 


64 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

and obliging man, with a wonderful love for 
children in general — his own little dark-eyed 
daughter had died in infancy — and for Bettie 
in particular. Even if the plan did seem a bit 
wild and venturesome (and Mr. Black himself 
was something of an adventurer, in the best 
sense of that word), it was not easy to say no 
with all those clinging arms about him, those 
eager, pleading young faces upturned ex- 
pectantly to his. Moreover, few persons, Mr. 
Black least of all, were able to resist the ap- 
peal in Bettie’s big, black, always rather pa- 
thetic eyes. And already, best argument of 
all, the slender little maid seemed to be im- 
proving under these new conditions. 

“ Well,” capitulated Mr. Black, ‘‘ it will take 
Dave some hours to get to Lakeville, and it 
may take considerable time for Saunders to 
find a boat or horses to come up here — we’ll 
have to leave all that part of it to his discre- 
tion. It may be to-morrow morning before we 
are rescued. Now, I’ll agree to this. We’ll send 
him a list of everything we need. If we are 
still desirous of staying when the things come, 




The Coming of Dave 

65 


and if there’s nothing in my mail to call me 
to town, we’ll stay. If we’re tired of it, we’ll 
just cart the stuff home again. We’ll each 
make out a list ” 

On what, I’d like to know ? ” interrupted 
Mrs. Crane. ‘‘ Fve used all the wrapping pa- 
per to start fires.’' 

Mr. Black, shaking off the clinging chil- 
dren, searched in the pockets of his clothes. 

“ Nothing doing,’' said he. The only 
scrap of paper I can spare is already covered 
with memoranda." 

Dave, who had been silently waiting, laughed 
appreciatively. It was an unexpectedly pleas- 
ant sound, too; for the half-breed’s voice was 
soft and deep. 

‘‘ Lots of paper on top of som’ tree," he 
said. Ah br-r-reeng som’." 

I can see leaves," laughed Henrietta, 
squinting upward, but no pages." 

‘‘ He means birch bark,’' explained quick- 
witted Marjory. ‘‘ See, he’s cutting big 
squares of it." 

When the squares were peeled into many 


66 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

thin sheets (the girls thought that great sport) 
Mr. Black distributed them among the other 
castaways. 

Here are two pencils/’ said he. ‘‘ I’ll use 
my fountain pen.” 

And I always have pencils in my bag,” said 
Mrs. Crane. I’ll tend to the provisions, 
Peter, if you’ll look out for the other things. 
Be sure, girls, to ask for extra shoes and 
stockings; you’ll need those and something 
warm to sleep in.” 

Noting that one more pencil was needed, 
Dave began to fumble in an apparently bottom- 
less pocket. From the depths he finally pro- 
duced a grimy, greasy stub, which he offered 
to pencil-less Marjory. 

But Marjory, fastidious little maid that she 
was, drew back from it, loathingly, and de- 
clined. 

Gentle-mannered Jean, promptly surmising 
that Dave’s feelings might be hurt, handed her 
own clean, long pencil to Marjory and ac- 
cepted Dave’s offering, with a sweet-voiced 
“ thank you.” 




The Coming of Dave 

67 


From that moment, Dave was Jean’s abject 
slave; and, if the proofs of his devotion were 
not always welcome, they at least proved 


numerous. 


CHAPTER VII 


DellvercD bg 5)ave 

T> Y this time, of course, the mothers. Aunty 
Jane, the solitary grandmother, and even 
the fathers, were decidedly alarmed ; for morn- 
ing disclosed the disquieting fact that the 
Whale was still missing. 

Mrs. Slater thought that somebody ought 
to call up the police; Mrs. Tucker suggested 
sending the militia forth on horseback to scour 
the surrounding country. Aunty Jane advised 
ringing the fire bell. 

“ All nonsense,” blustered Doctor Bennett, 
more worried than he was willing to admit; 
but, since all the alarmed ladies, singly and 
collectively, had appealed to him for advice, 
it was necessary of course to appear as un- 
concerned as possible. All nonsense, I say. 
If Mr. Black has had an accident with his 
car he probably doesn’t care to have the fact 
advertised. Nor do we want the whole town 


68 




Delivered by Dave 

69 


worrying about our children. Be reasonable. 
There isn’t a road in the country that crosses 
a railroad track; there isn’t an inch of road 
anywhere about that skirts any dangerous de- 
clivity. The Whale might get stuck in some 
swamp or stalled in the sand or lose a tire or 
run short of gasoline. In any of those cases, 
they’d take refuge somewhere, while waiting 
for repairs. Folks with automobiles often get 
held up for a night. There’s just one thing 
for us to do. That is, to wait. Go home, 
everybody, and wait” 

So, only partly relieved of their fears, 
though frequently upheld by encouraging Doc- 
tor Bennett, these good people waited through- 
out the long, dreary day. 

To return to the castaways, it required 
nearly every minute of the two hours that 
Dave spent in slumber to prepare those lists 
and various letters, for they all needed a great 
deal of revising. 

Henrietta’s was the last note to be finished, 
because that ingenious maid added a miracu- 


70 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

lous number of postscripts. All the other mis- 
sives were tied together with a stout string; 
when Henrietta, who had seized hers at the 
last moment to add a request for marshmal- 
lows, discovered that Dave, with the large 
packet inside his shirt, was already making 
for the path out of the clearing. 

Henrietta flew after him with the note, 
which was addressed very clearly to Mrs. 
Slater. Dave laughed, thrust the note lightly 
into the pocket of his shirt, and vanished — ■ 
Dave had a curious way of melting, with sur- 
prising suddenness, from one’s sight. 

He’ll lose that,” declared Henrietta, re- 
turning to the group sheltered under a big pine 
tree — the June sun was bright in the clear- 
ing. ‘‘ I wish it were tied up with the 
others.” 

It was fortunate, however, that it was not; 
for the Indian proved an erratic postman. 

It took Dave less time than Mr. Black had 
supposed it would to reach Lakeville — and a 
Lakeville friend, dwelling on the outskirts of 
the town. This hospitable friend considered 


Delivered by Dave 71 

it necessary to refresh his visitor with the con- 
tents of a large, flat bottle. 

Now, Dave was very easily affected by 
strong drink. After he had parted from his 
generous host, he remembered hazily that he 
had something to deliver to somebody — he 
cherished a dim recollection of a flying, girlish 
figure, a bright, youthful countenance, and a 
letter. That was it, a letter. He groped in 
his trousers pockets. Nothing there. In his 
loose belt. Nothing there. In the pocket of 
his dingy shirt. Yes, there it was. 

Clutching it firmly, the staggering Indian 
searched the sky above him with bleared but 
inquiring eyes. 

‘‘ What ye lookin' for ? " asked Pat Mul- 
ligan, the policeman. 

‘‘ Pos' — ^pos’ office," replied Dave, with a 
wide, friendly smile. “ Let — ^letters s'mail." 

“ Give it here," said Pat, ‘‘ Pm goin’ right 
there myself." 

With that, he escorted trusting Dave to the 
village lockup. This safely accomplished, he 
studied the address on the birch-bark note. 


72 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

‘‘ Sure,” observed Pat, ‘‘ there’s no stamp on 
this. ’Twas plainly meant to be delivered by 
hand. On the Avenoo, is it ? I’m knowin’ the 
house — I’ll take it there.” 

Which the good-natured officer did, to the 
great relief of Mrs. Slater, who, in spite of 
Doctor Bennett’s assurances, was almost wild, 
by this time, with anxiety. 

Dear Granny,” extravagant Henrietta had 
written. I’m a wild Indian in the loveliest 
woods in the world. We’re all safe and com- 
fortable and we’re going to stay forever, so 
send me a nightie and a toothbrush, some 
stockings, my tennis shoes, my oldest dress, 
some underwear; and, if you love me, a clean 
towel — a fuzzy one. Affectionately, Henri- 
etta. 

‘‘ P.S. — I’d like a pillow-case, if you please. 
And a sheet. 

“ P.S. — Oh, yes — I need my hairbrush and 
my bathing suit. 

‘‘ P.S. — And a lot of things to eat; bread, 
pie, cake, cookies, fruit, and fish-hooks. 

“ P.S. — Please can I have a red bandanna 


Delivered by Dave 73 

handkerchief and a button to sew on my petti- 
coat. Also, a pair of shoe strings. 

** P.S. — Peanuts and everything else you can 
thing of to eat and wear. 

“ P-S. — Please send the bundle to Mr. 
Black’s office to Mr. Saunders. 

‘‘ P.S. — can of condensed milk for An- 
thony Fitz-Hubert, if they do call the poor dear 
‘Ambrosial Delight.’ 

‘‘ P.S. — A whole bushel of marshmallows 
for me. I love you.” 

Mrs. Slater, a bright old lady with sparkling 
black eyes, not unlike Henrietta’s own, read 
this letter with very evident enjoyment. Then 
she went to the telephone. 

“Is this Doctor Tucker?” she asked. 
“ Have you heard from Bettie ? Oh, haven’t 
you? Well, I have — that is, from Henrietta. 
They are safe and comfortable; and, I should 
judge from Henrietta’s note, uproariously 
happy. If you’ll call up the Bennetts and Mar- 
jory’s Aunt Jane, I’ll tell Mrs. Mapes. Then 
I’ll drive round, presently, and let you see the 
note — no, she didn’t mention the Whale — I 


74 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

fancy your girls will want as many things as 
Henrietta does. Don’t forget to tell the others 
— good-by.” 

This, of course, relieved the anxious minds 
of the parents; and Doctor Bennett was 
thoughtful enough to inform Martin that the 
party was safe. 

At ten o’clock the next morning, Dave was 
given an opportunity to appear before Judge 
Wilson and tell his story. The delayed notes 
came to light, and by noon were properly dis- 
tributed, whereupon there was a grand scur- 
rying in several households ; and in Mr. Black’s 
office as well. 

‘‘What,” asked puzzled Mrs. Bennett, run- 
ning into Mrs. Tucker’s conveniently near 
house, “ did Bettie ask for ? This is every 
word Mabel wrote.” 

Mrs. Bennett drew a scrap of bark from her 
blouse. Mrs. Tucker laughed when she read it. 

“ Dear Mother : ” wrote Mabel. “ Please 
send about a thousand bananas. We are going 
to stay here.” 

All around this was an elaborate border of 


Delivered by Dave 75 

drawings — attempts at squirrels. Mabel had 
left no room for further writing. 

“ I hope/' Mrs. Tucker said, eying the draw- 
ings, apprehensively, that that place isn't in- 
fested with rats." 

They're rabbits/' explained Mrs. Bennett, 
with conviction. ‘‘ Mabel has quite a talent 
for drawing. But I wish she'd written a little 
more." 

“ She probably needs all the articles that Bet- 
tie asks for," said Mrs. Tucker. Bettie says 
she's feeling fine. I suppose they found an 
empty farmhouse and took possession of it." 

‘‘ Yes," agreed Mrs. Bennett, I can just 
see them moving into those empty rooms and 
making them as homelike as possible." 

It was a good thing, perhaps, that Mrs. Ben- 
nett couldn't see the house that her daughter 
was living in; for it certainly wasn't much of 
a house, even with the extra touches that Mr. 
Black was adding at that very moment. But 
of course it was better than none. The good 
lady, re-enforced by Bettie's really useful list, 
went home to hunt up as many as she could 


76 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

locate of Mabel’s scattered belongings; for Ma- 
bel, ever the untidiest of mortals, kept her 
wardrobe in the unlikeliest of places. 

Poor Mr. Saunders certainly had his hands 
full collecting all the things for which Mr. 
Black and his good sister had asked — these 
hospitable souls were bent on providing their 
guests with every possible comfort. It was not 
easy, either, to find a boatman willing or able 
to go so far — ^the distance was greater by 
water than by land. 

When all else was packed in Captain Berry’s 
gasoline launch, Mr. Saunders paid Dave’s fine 
and secured his release from the jail, for Mr. 
Black had written that Dave was to ride with 
the motley cargo. This cargo was all aboard, 
even to Mabel’s bananas, but it was the morn- 
ing of the following day before the boat was 
able to start, because Captain Berry, the 
launch-man, had discovered at dusk that his 
gasoline barrel was empty. By that time Dave 
was missing. But dauntless Mr. Saunders em- 
ployed Mulligan, the policeman, to find him; 
and Dave, very much the worse for the liquid 


Delivered by Dave 77 

portion of his breakfast, was finally loaded, 
with his snarling dog, aboard the launch. 
Dave, it was only too plainly evident, was un- 
able to resist the temptations of town life. 

At last, however, to the great relief of Mr. 
Saunders, the launch was started on its way. 
“ I feel,’’ said the weary bachelor, turning 
away from the wharf, “ just like the father of 
a whole orphan asylum.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


tTbe pandd of Ibundec 

jgY this time, the castaways were on the 
brink of starvation. They had feasted all 
the first day, and, with the prospect of more 
provisions coming, had eaten all they could 
hold on the second ; that was no small amount, 
for the fresh air had quickened all their appe- 
tites. On the third they ate about all there 
was left for breakfast. 

“ We might as well,” said Mrs. Crane, for 
the boat or the wagon will surely be here by 
noon, or, at worst, by night.” 

But, thanks to unreliable Dave, the casta- 
ways^ calculations were all wrong. Not a 
crumb arrived that day. For their noon meal, 
they drank some very weak cocoa, some broken 
crackers, and some crusts that Mabel had left 
at breakfast time. Mabel always left her 
crusts; though now that she had nothing else 
to eat, they tasted, as Mabel said, almost as 
good as cake. 


78 


The Pangs of Hunger 79 

“ This won’t do,” said Mr. Black, putting his 
share of the fragments on Bettie’s wooden 
plate. “ Fm going to rob that Indian’s wig- 
wam and we’ll have a real meal just as soon 
as we can cook it.” 

‘‘If we were toads,” offered Mabel, discon- 
solately eying her empty plate, “ we could eat 
toadstools. I saw a lot of awfully queer ones 
along the road that leads to Barclay’s Point.” 

“ Toadstools? ” questioned Mr. Black, paus- 
ing in his flight. “ What were they like ? ” 

“ Very pointed at the top,” returned Mabel. 
“ Some of them were shaped just like big, 
smooth eggs and some were spread out flat like 
a parasol.” 

“ What color were they? ” 

“ Gray — sort of silvery. One of the big ones 
was all wet on the edges with shoeblacking — 
all drippy.” 

“ Inky mushrooms ! ” exclaimed Mr. Black 
and Mrs. Crane, in one breath. 

“ Sarah,” continued Mr. Black, “ you go 
with Mabel and look at those ‘ toadstools ’ 
while I burglarize Dave’s wigwam. Then 


8o The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

we’ll have a meal even if it doesn’t happen to 
be mealtime.” 

I guess,” mourned Bettie, ‘‘ we fed too 
many scraps to the squirrels.” 

The toadstools proved to be a very fine va- 
riety of ‘‘ inky ” mushrooms (long afterwards 
Jean learned that the proper name for this 
mushroom was coprinns atramentarius) . 
They grew in generous clusters and it was 
great fun to gather the queer, slippery objects 
and pack them carefully in Mrs. Crane’s basket, 
which was soon filled. Mr. Black returned 
with a number of potatoes, a saucepan, part of 
the Indian’s venison, some salt, and a little 
flour. 

‘‘ That,” explained Mr. Black, is to thicken 
the gravy. Here, Jean, hand me that frying- 
pan for my venison cutlets. Marjory, you 
may run to the beach with these potatoes and 
wash them. Take this saucepan with you and 
scour that, too — use sand. I’ll build a good 
fire and get a pail of water. Here come the 
mushroom gatherers. What luck, Sarah? 
Phew ! You have made a haul ! ” 


The Pangs of Hunger 8i 

Are they really good to eat ? ’’ queried Bet- 
tie, distrustfully. 

“ One of the very best kinds that grow.” 

And you’re sure that these are that kind? ” 

Perfectly sure. Sarah and I used to gather 
them when we were children, didn’t we, Sarah ? 
I’m glad there’s a tiny corner of butter left 
to fry them in.” 

By the middle of the afternoon, this curi- 
ously acquired meal was ready; and, although 
the potatoes were plain boiled with their jackets 
on and the gravy was pretty lumpy, it all tasted 
very good indeed to the hungry castaways. 

“ I guess,” said Mabel, taking most of the 
credit for the mushrooms to herself, “ that I 
just about saved your lives.” 

Or poisoned us,” remarked Marjory, who 
wasn’t quite sure that she liked mushrooms. 
“ I’m glad, anyway, that we’ve enough meat 
and potatoes and gravy left for another meal.” 

‘‘ That venison,” said Mr. Black, beaming 
at his satisfied family, was certainly good.” 

“ Mr. Black,” queried Henrietta, her black 
eyes twinkling saucily, ‘‘ didn’t I hear you say 


82 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

that you were going to have Dave arrested for 
getting game out of season? What happens to 
people that eat it out of season? '' 

‘‘ They get arrested, imprisoned, and fined,” 
said Mr. Black, ‘‘provided the game warden 
catches them. Tm glad you asked that ques- 
tion, Henrietta. Girls, you are not to mention 
this venison in town or to any chance visitor 
that may come this way. And don’t point out 
that wigwam to any stranger — there are too 
many evidences of Dave’s crimes about the 
place. Besides, they’re on my property — ^they 
might hold me responsible.” 

“ Particularly if they caught you with the 
bones on your plate,” remarked Mrs. Crane, 
dryly. “ And, in any case, you stole that 
venison.” 

“ Dave owes me a lot more than this for 
rent,” returned Mr. Black. “ But we won’t 
have to break any game laws if Saunders sends 
the fishing tackle I ordered. There are three 
good meals a day swimming about in our own 
river.” 

“ What,” asked Bettie, “ is that net for — the 


The Pangs of Hunger 83 

one that Dave left on the beach? Why can’t 
you fish with that ? ” 

By Jove ! ” exclaimed Mr. Black, that is 
fishing tackle. But that’s against the law, too. 
It’s to stretch across the river for trout; but 

that form of sport isn’t permitted. Still ” 

Peter, you wouldn't! " protested Mrs. 
Crane. 

‘‘ Sarah, I would — if it were necessary to 
keep us from hunger. But if I ever do — ^girls, 
whatever I do, you must remember about that 
game warden.” 

“We will,” promised Henrietta. 

“ We will,” chorused the others. 

And when the time came, they did; but you 
shall hear about that after awhile. 

The castaways were up bright and early the 
next morning. For one thing the mosquitoes 
troubled them; hitherto the light breeze blowing 
across their camp ground had kept these pests 
away; but the night had been unusually still 
and the tantalizing insects had discovered the 
sleeping campers. For another thing, every- 
body wanted to be up and as much dressed as 


84 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

possible when the boat or the wagon should 
come. This uncertainty as to whether relief 
would arrive by land or approach by water 
added very considerably to the excitement. It 
wasn’t possible for the girls to do much of 
anything except to run by turns to the spot 
whence one could look down the road and to 
that other spot from which one could view the 
lake. Unfortunately there was no one spot 
that commanded both these avenues of ap- 
proach. 

Just at noon, a shrill screech from Marjory, 
prancing precariously on the edge of the bank, 
announced that relief was in sight. 

A ship — a ship ! ” shrieked keen-sighted 
Marjory. 

Where away ? ” demanded Mr. Black. 

‘‘ There she blows ! ” quoted Marjory, em- 
ploying the only other nautical term she could 
call to mind and pointing with an extended 
forefinger. 

“ That’s not a whale — that’s a boat,” scoffed 
Henrietta, who had traveled. “ It’s whales 
that blow.” 


The Pangs of Hunger 85 

“ I don’t care,” returned Marjory. “ And 
boats do too, when they have whistles. Any- 
how, I saw it first Look out, Mabel! ” 

But the frail edge of the bank had already 
crumbled under weighty Mabel, who, unex- 
pectedly, shot downward to the beach. No 
harm was done, however, for the sand was 
clean and soft. 

‘‘ Mabel,” laughed Mr. Black, you’ll have 
my whole hundred-and-twenty acres in the 
lake if you don’t stop tumbling off the edge 
of my property. This isn’t the first time you’ve 
taken a large slice off the landscape.” 

“ It’s about the ninth,” admitted Mabel, 
scrambling back to the grassy top. I’m al- 
ways forgetting how easily it breaks away.” 

“ That’s because it sticks out a little over the 
top,” explained sage Jean. “ In very stormy 
weather the waves wash against the bank and 
scoop it out.” 

“ I suppose that is our boat,” said Mr. Black, 
rubbing his chin, “ and I hope my razor’s on 
it — I must look like a pirate by this time, or 
a tramp.” 


86 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Coatless Mr. Black, without his daily shave 
and with his broken suspenders mended with 
odd bits of twine, certainly did look rather un- 
like his usually neat self. 

“ That boat isn’t coming very fast,” com- 
plained Marjory. 

It’s a very clear day,” explained Mrs. 
Crane, ‘‘ so you can see a long distance. That 
boat is probably several miles away.” 

In spite of their impatience, the boat re- 
mained several miles away for a long, long 
time. 

If that is a boat,” said Mr. Black, it’s the 
very slowest one on Lake Superior.” 

Perhaps,” suggested Jean, it’s going the 
other way.” 

But the boat was neither going nor coming. 
The engine had balked; and Captain Berry, for 
it really was Captain Berry, was waiting, as 
he had often waited before, for his defective 
electrical apparatus to get good and ready to 
work. 


CHAPTER IX 


Bn Bjcftfng Bttcrnoon 

JT was three o’clock before the speck on the 
water began to show signs of life. 

‘‘ Hurrah ! ” cried Bettie, who spent much 
time lying on her stomach on the beach with 
her heels in the air, since she was not permitted 
to use them recklessly for walking purposes. 
‘‘ I hear something ‘ chugging.’ Listen, every- 
body.” 

I do believe it’s really coming,” announced 
Marjory, who was perched on a fallen pine 
tree, whose upturned root rested edgewise on 
the bank while its trunk, firmly upheld by the 
stout stubs of its broken branches, extended 
far out over the shallow water. Light-footed 
Marjory delighted in running the length of 
that log, or in perching at its outer end. Hen- 
rietta enjoyed it, too. Sometimes all the girls 
sat on it in a giggling row, with their feet 
dangling over the water. 

87 


88 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Black, rolling up his sleeves 
(there would be plenty of work for all hands 
when the boat should arrive), ‘‘that craft is 
certainly headed this way.” 

“ By the way,” said Mr. Black, with a com- 
prehensive glance that swept the entire group, 
“ how many of you would like to go home 
when that boat goes back ? ” 

“ Not I,” cried Bettie. 

“ Not I,” echoed Jean. 

“ Nor I,” said Marjory. 

“ Pm going to stay forever,” declared Hen- 
rietta. 

“ As for me,” said Mabel, “ I feel as if Fd 
only just got here ! ” 

“You don’t look it,” said Henrietta; 
“ there’s a suspiciously dark ring about your 
neck, your wrists are black, and you’re fairly 
bursting out between your buttons.” 

“ Well,” retorted Mabel, “ there isn’t much 
use in taking a bath when you haven’t any soap 
or towels or clean clothes. You just wait till 
my — gracious ! ” 

“ What’s the matter? ” asked Jean; for over 


An Exciting Afternoon 89 

Mabel’s plump and not over-clean countenance 
had spread a look of blank dismay. 

“ I never asked for a thing but bananas,” 
groaned the youngest member of Mr. Black’s 
flock. 

You can string the skins and wear those,” 
suggested Henrietta, wickedly, for she de- 
lighted in teasing Mabel. “ You’ve seen pic- 
tures of Fiji Islanders, haven’t you? Well, 
no doubt you’ll come to that.” 

Never mind,” soothed Jean, the peace- 
maker. ‘‘ Mother always sends a lot more of 
everything than anybody needs; so perhaps 
I’ll be able to lend you a thing or two. I’d 
do anything to stay.” 

“How is it with you, Sarah?” asked Mr. 
Black. “ Do you want to go home ? ” 

“ Peter,” replied Mrs. Crane, “ this is 
home.” 

“ I’m beginning to think,” said Mr. Black, 
“ that we were all born wild Indians. I don’t 
want to go home myself; and I hope that 
Saunders won’t send any news that will make 
me feel that I ought to. How about you, 


90 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Ambrosial Delight? Do you like the woods, 
little cat ? 

The frisky kitten, always responsive to at- 
tention, scrambled up Mr. Black’s leg, leaped 
to his broad shoulder, and began running in a 
circle round and round Mr. Black’s neck. 

‘‘ He says,” interpreted Henrietta, that he 
wouldn’t go home for the best cow’s milk in 
the country.” 

At last the boat, headed straight for the 
shore, was so near that the campers could see 
that every available inch of the craft was filled 
with boxes, bundles, and baskets. The excited 
little girls pranced so recklessly on the edge 
of the bank that a lot more of it crumbled and 
rolled to the beach, a youngster or two with it. 
Mabel, anxious to obtain a closer view of the 
boat’s cargo, as Captain Berry dropped an- 
chor, rushed recklessly toward the end of the 
long, prostrate pine. 

‘‘ Oh ! ” shrieked Marjory, you’re shaking 
the whole log! Oh! Oh! Don’t touch me!'* 

But Marjory’s admonition came too late. 
Plump, clumsy Mabel, feeling the need of 


An Exciting Afternoon 91 

some other support than the log afforded, flung 
her arms about her slender comrade. There 
was another alarmed shriek from Marjory, two 
wildly scrambling figures clutching at empty 
air — and a prodigious splash. The water at 
this point was just knee deep; enough of it, 
fortunately, to break the girls’ fall and not 
enough to drown them. 

Dave and his dog plunged overboard from 
the launch and waded rapidly to the rescue. 
That is, Dave waded and Onota swam. Mr. 
Black, too, waded hurriedly to the spot where 
Mabel, on all-fours, was endeavoring to stand 
upright and where Marjory was thrashing 
about like a frenzied trout. 

Dave seized one, Mr. Black the other, and, 
in another moment the girls were safe on their 
feet, gasping, sputtering, and trying to wipe 
their wet faces on their wetter skirts. 

‘‘ It’s a good thing,” said Mr. Black, lead- 
ing his half of the rescued victims ashore, 
“ that your dry clothes are in sight.” 

I only hope they are,” breathed Mabel. 
‘‘ I didn’t ask for any.” 


92 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

As there was no dock, the launch could not 
be taken very close to shore, so her cargo was 
carefully unloaded by Captain Berry into one 
of the three small boats that he was towing. 
Dave, already so wet that a little more moisture 
did not matter, pushed this smaller craft 
ashore. The boat’s nose was drawn up on a 
strip of wet sand, perhaps three feet across. 
Next to this came about twenty feet of dry, 
white sand. After that a sand bank eight feet 
high led by a steep path to the grassy plateau 
above. 

All hands unload,” shouted Mr. Black, 
seizing some of the lighter parcels and tossing 
them up to Mrs. Crane, who carried them back 
a few yards from the edge and piled them 
under a tree. The girls grabbed baskets and 
bundles, too, and scrambled up the steep bank 
with them and scurried down again for more. 
Mabel and Marjory worked also, which was 
better than sitting still in wet clothes; and 
Dave, Captain Berry, and Mr. Black toiled up 
the bank with the heavier articles. When the 
first boat load was cared for, the little craft 




An Exciting Afternoon 

93 


was rowed back to the launch for another cargo 
— it made four trips. 

Two of the small boats that Captain Berry 
had towed behind the launch were pulled high 
on the beach, with oars and oar-locks laid 
carefully inside. The girls were delighted 
when they learned that they were to be left 
at the camp. 

Some of the baskets and bundles were ad- 
dressed to the little girls and you may be cer- 
tain that it wasn’t long before those eager chil- 
dren had the wrappings torn from their many 
parcels. 

“ Hey ! ” shrieked Mabel, prancing heavily 
on one foot and waving aloft a pair of stock- 
ings and a freshly laundered petticoat, “they 
did send my clothes, and my bananas, too. 
Now I can dress up.” 

Everybody laughed, because, if ever a hu- 
man being looked in need of clean garments, 
Mabel did. Her tumble into the lake, followed 
by sundry other tumbles up and down the sand 
bank, had certainly not improved the appear- 
ance of Mabel’s pink gingham frock. 


94 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

‘‘ Fve two clean dresses, too,” added Mabel, 
after another excursion into her basket, and 
a cake of soap.” 

At sight of the soap, the girls fairly shrieked 
with mirth. 

‘‘ For goodness’ sake,” advised Marjory, ‘‘ go 
use it.” 

Mr. Black found the hammer he had sent 
for ( fortunately Saunders had marked the out- 
side of all the parcels that he had packed, so 
that one could be reasonably certain as to the 
nature of the contents) and knocked the covers 
off all the boxes in order to ascertain if every- 
thing he had ordered had been sent. When 
he and Mrs. Crane were satisfied as to this 
matter, they told Captain Berry that every- 
thing was all right. 

‘‘ But,” suggested Mrs. Crane, ‘‘ hadn’t he 
better come back in about a week to see if we 
need anything? And there’s the Whale ” 

‘‘We can send Dave to town again if we 
find we need provisions. And Saunders writes 
that he couldn’t tell from Dave’s directions 
how to reach us with horses and would await 


An Exciting Afternoon 95 

further orders concerning the car. Now that 
I have tools I can build a temporary shelter 
over the Whale.'’ 

“ ril have to be starting homeward pretty 
soon,” said Captain Berry, who had been cast- 
ing anxious glances at the sky. “ Those clouds 
are traveling pretty fast and there’s consid- 
erable ripple on the water. There’ll be some- 
thing doing before morning.” 

‘‘ Rain ? ” asked Mrs. Crane, anxiously. 

‘‘ Wind,” said the Captain, “ but there may 
be rain, too.” 

‘‘If that’s the case, we’d better get those 
tents up at once,” said Mr. Black, “ and then 
we shan’t care if it does rain. We have five 
tents and plenty of blankets.” 

“ Well,” offered Captain Berry, “ if you’ve 
five tents to put up, I guess I’d better help 
you; but you mustn’t keep me too long.” 

Fortunately, poles and stakes came with the 
tents and the ground in the grassy clearing 
was level. Soon, with valuable assistance from 
Dave, a large octagonal tent of gaily striped 
canvas was in place. 


96 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ This,” said Mr. Black, viewing it with sat- 
isfaction, “ is our dining-room.” 

Next, the three men hurriedly put up a 
large, straight-walled sleeping tent that looked 
very clean and new. 

This,” said Mr. Black, wiping the per- 
spiration from his brow, is for you five girls 
— you’ll have room for your bed and space 
enough to dress in.” 

Of the remaining tents, one was for Mrs. 
Crane, another for Mr. Black, and the third was 
for the provisions. As soon as the tents were 
up, and good Captain Berry was chug-chugging 
away as fast as he could in his very much 
lightened launch, there was plenty of work for 
all hands to do. Provisions were placed under 
cover, fresh balsam beds were arranged in the 
three sleeping tents — Dave brought the boughs 
and made the beds — and the girls stored their 
bundles of clothing in their big bedroom. 

In addition to garments for their charges, the 
three mothers, Marjory’s Aunty Jane, and 
Henrietta’s grandmother had sent large bas- 
kets of delightful things to eat. Mrs. Slater 


An Exciting Afternoon 97 

had sent two roasted chickens, some bread, a 
huge frosted cake, and some oranges; besides 
all the things for which Henrietta had asked. 
Mrs. Mapes had dispatched bread, doughnuts, 
and three gigantic apple pies. Mrs. Bennett’s 
contributions were some fine home-made rolls, 
a large veal loaf, a big box of cookies, besides 
a huge basket of bananas for her daughter 
Mabel. Aunty Jane had sent four kinds of 
pickles, four kinds of jelly, four kinds of jam, 
and a large beefsteak. Mrs. Tucker had added 
a large jar of baked beans, a generous salad, 
and two big pans of gingerbread. 

“ I guess,” said Mrs. Crane, almost over- 
whelmed with these contributions to her pan- 
try, “ we won’t have to use the flour, the yeast 
cakes, and the tin oven I sent for, just yet 
awhile.” 

‘‘ Nor the potatoes, canned things, and other 
provisions that I ordered,” said Mr. Black. 
“ We’re certainly bountifully supplied with 
food.” 

We’ll have a ready-made supper to-night,” 
promised Mrs. Crane. 


98 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“If you’ll wait half an hour/' said Mr. 
Black, “ we’ll have a table to eat it on. Now 
that I have nails ahd a saw, we can have real 
furniture.” 

Dave and Mr. Black made not only a table 
but four benches, each long enough to hold 
four persons. The table had to have a hole 
in the center to accommodate the tent pole; 
but Mr. Black managed that. Then he fas- 
tened two lamps with reflectors to the pole, 
Mrs. Crane spread a big sheet of white oil- 
cloth over the table, and the dining-room was 
complete. 

Jean begged a number of wooden boxes from 
which the contents had been removed. “ We 
can put our extra clothes in them,” said she, 
“ and keep our toilet articles on top. I’m so 
glad to have a hairbrush that I feel as if I 
ought to frame it.” 

“Anything more to build?” asked Mr. 
Black. 

“I’d like a cupboard for my dishes,” said 
Mrs. Crane, who was setting the attractive 
table. “But you needn’t make it to-night. 




An Exciting Afternoon 

99 


It’s a good thing the plates came — our wooden 
ones wouldn’t have stood another washing. 
And I’m glad to have a dishpan.” 

Wasn’t the lake big enough? ” 

“ It wasn’t in the right place. Where’s 
Dave? He seems to think he belongs to us. 
Hadn’t we better give him some supper? ” 

“ Yes. If you’ll put something on a plate 
I’ll carry it to him — he’s gone to his wigwam. 
I want to tell him that we took his venison 
and potatoes. Here, that’s enough — I can’t 
carry three plates.” 


CHAPTER X 


B Stormy mgbt 

j^VERY one had been too busy to think 
about the weather. But, when supper 
was on the table, Mrs. Crane noticed that 
Jean’s dark hair had been blown about her face, 
that Henrietta’s, too, was flying about in loose 
locks, and that the loose canvas at the door- 
way of the big tent was flapping noisily. 

“ Look at the lake! ” cried Marjory. ‘‘ It’s 
all mussed up and queer, like something boil- 
ing, I hope Captain Berry got home safely.” 

The wind is in his favor and he has had 
sufficient time. But that’s a pretty angry sea 
— I guess Dave and I had better pull those 
boats to the top of the bank, after supper. 
We’re going to have some waves that are waves 
before morning.” 

The lake, at that hour, however, was not so 
rough as it was threatening. Its surface was 
of a dark, dull slate-color, marked with long 


lOO 




A Stormy Night 

lOI 


lines of deep blue and blackish purple. Some 
hidden force seemed to be lifting it from un- 
derneath as if, as Marjory said, it were boil- 
ing, or at least getting ready to boil. The sun 
had dropped behind the distant hills without 
leaving the usual rose-pink afterglow. Over- 
head, dark clouds were scurrying toward the 
southwest; but as yet the waves had not gath- 
ered sufficient strength to be very noisy. The 
air was colder; and that, too, seemed filled 
with hidden threats and half- whispered 
warnings. 

Fm thankful,” said Mr. Black, carving 
more roasted chicken for Bettie, who said that 
all fowls should have had eight legs apiece, 
“that we have good, sound tents to sleep in 
to-night and that Captain Berry knew how to 
put them up so they'd stay. After we’ve pulled 
the boat up, Dave and I will see if any of the 
ropes need tightening. There is one thing that 
everybody must remember. If it rains, you 
must not touch the canvas — that makes it leak.” 

It was too windy for a fire on the beach 
that night, so the castaways, in their warm 


102 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

sweaters, sat round the dining-room table, and, 
by the light of the big lamps, enjoyed the 
magazines that Mr. Saunders had thoughtfully 
included. They were particularly interested in 
the advertisements of tents, boats, and other 
camp-y things. 

Just as Bettie was certain that her eyes 
would not stay open a single moment longer, 
there was a loud crash near at hand. 

‘‘Now what?’’ cried startled Mrs. Crane, 
who was hemming some of the queer dish- 
toweling that inexperienced Mr. Saunders had 
been obliged to select, “ is that ? Not thun- 
der, I hope.” 

“ Our late residence, I suspect,” returned 
Mr. Black. “ It’s a good thing we moved out 
when we did — I guess I’d better rescue that 
tablecloth.” 

By this time the waves were running high 
and dashing savagely against the bank. Usu- 
ally the hurrying clouds obscured the moon; 
but, whenever it gleamed forth for a moment, 
it showed a foaming, furious sea — ^their calm, 
beautiful, softly tinted lake was gone. 


A Stormy Night 103 

'' Fm glad,” shuddered Bettie, “ that I’m 
not out there in a boat.” 

‘‘ I hope,” said Jean, that nobody is. A 
little boat would be smashed to bits.” 

Wouldn’t it be dreadful,” suggested Hen- 
rietta, ‘Mf a ship were wrecked right down 
there on the beach? Anyway, I guess we’d 
find it pretty exciting.” 

‘‘ Or the ship would,” offered Marjory. 

Let’s hope hard,'' said Bettie, that all the 
ships and sailors are in snug, safe harbors — 
When I go to bed to-night I’m going to make 
a little prayer about it.” 

But, in spite of Bettie’s little prayer, if, in- 
deed, she remembered to make it, there were 
several ships abroad that night; and a pas- 
senger on one of the smallest and least sig- 
nificant was probably, at that very moment, 
sailing into this story; but many other things 
happened before he was unceremoniously tum- 
bled into the tale; and you must have them 
in their turn. 

All night long the heavy surf pounded and 
thundered on the beach. All night long the 


104 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

wind howled and shrieked. But the casta- 
ways, snug in their strong new tents and their 
warm, red blankets, slept through all the tur- 
moil. 

They were obliged, next morning, to forego 
the pleasure of washing their faces in the lake; 
but the river, with some help from the bright 
new dishpan, served as well. Dave’s ice-cold 
spring provided them with excellent drinking 
water. 

“ This storm,” said Mr. Black, arranging a 
temporary shelter for the fire, ‘‘ will bring us 
plenty of driftwood. We can have benches 
under the trees and an extra table or two — I 
expect to get thin, building things.” 

‘‘ Well, it won’t hurt* you,” returned Mrs. 
Crane. “ You can begin by building that fire 
— I’m ready to cook.” 

Previously to this time, the days had been 
warm and comparatively quiet; but to-day it 
was decidedly cold. The wind, sweeping 
through the clearing, carried off all the bits 
of paper and string that the eager girls had 
torn from their parcels the night before and 


A Stormy Night 105 

thoughtlessly scattered about. It was neces- 
sary to fasten things down to keep them from 
swirling out of sight. The big waves 'still 
thundered in and their white spray dashed high 
above the edge of the battered bank. 

But, for all that, it proved a delightful day, 
because the clear air was wonderfully bracing, 
the campers were really camping, and one could 
escape the buffeting of the wind and the con- 
tinuous roar of the waves by taking long walks 
in the sheltered trails and roads. 

This,’’ said Mr. Black, when the morn- 
ing’s work was done, “ would be a good time 
to walk to Barclay’s Point to see the waves. 
These are just tiny wavelets beside what we’ll 
see over there — they’ll be perfectly terrific on 
the north side of that peninsula. I was going 
to fish in the river with those nice angle- 
worms that Saunders sent; but I can take you 
there first and do my fishing afterwards.” 

There were two ways of getting to Barclay’s 
Point. In ordinary weather, one walked up 
the beach. In stormy weather, there was a 
very roundabout way by the road and a more 


io6 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

direct route by a woodsy trail that wasn’t ex- 
actly visible — one felt rather than saw it. 
Some persons have an instinct for following 
trails. Jean had it, Marjory had it to a lesser 
degree ; but Mabel and Henrietta were without 
it; while Dave, Indian that he was, could see 
trails where none existed for any one else. 
Since Jean possessed the trail-instinct, she 
walked ahead, while Mr. Black, in order to 
keep Mabel and Henrietta from straying from 
the path, marched behind. Mrs. Crane re- 
mained in camp with Bettie, who was not yet 
permitted to take long walks. 

To reach Barclay’s, one crossed the river 
twice. The first crossing was easy, for there 
was a rude bridge built of heavy timber. But 
the second was a different matter. Nature 
had provided a bridge by conveniently drop- 
ping a huge tree across the stream, which was 
wide and about three feet deep at this point. 
The log — the branches had long ago been 
chopped away — was very wide at one end but 
tapered somewhat toward the other. When 
the water was low, there was room for a 




A Stormy Night 

107 


canoe to pass under this log. Jean walked 
steadily across it, Marjory flitted over it like 
a bird, Henrietta, with fancy steps that would 
have been impossible for the others even on 
solid ground, danced across; but Mabel, wa- 
vering and wabbling, had to be assisted by Mr. 
Black, who stretched forth a helping hand the 
moment she began to falter. 

I guess,” declared Mabel, indignantly, 
“ that old tree was a slippery elm.” 

“ No,” returned Mr. Black, it was pine, 
and a big fellow at that. It’s been here for 
many years.” 

‘‘ How can you tell ? ” queried Henrietta. 

** See that birch tree growing from the up- 
per side of its root ? That birch has had time 
to grow from a seed into a good-sized tree since 
some mighty tornado or some unusual freshet 
uprooted this great pine — pine does not rot as 
quickly as some of the harder woods.” 

I see one reason why it fell,” asserted 
Jean. There’s water bubbling out down 
there, under the root.” 

So there is,” said Mr. Black, ‘‘ I’m glad 


io8 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

I brought my cup — that’s a spring. We’ll have 
a drink.” 

So everybody drank some of the clear, cold 
water before proceeding to Barclay’s. 

There was no sign of civilization at Bar- 
clay’s Point; just a long, rocky promontory 
that ran out into the lake and, in fair weather, 
furnished a fine place to fish from. Its north 
coast was particularly rough and jagged. 
Here, as Mr. Blank had prophesied, the waves, 
roaring and booming like ceaseless artillery, 
struck with tremendous force against the rocks 
and dashed to prodigious heights — a grand and 
unforgettable sight. 

But Mabel’s sweater was not unforgettable. 
She had taken it off because she was too warm 
after the steep climb to the spot from which 
the waves presented the finest spectacle (no- 
body wanted to get too close to all that moun- 
tain of water) and anchored the garment 
firmly to the ground by means of a heavy 
stone. She returned to camp without missing 
it — she had something more exciting to think 
of, for Henrietta had mentioned that one of 




A Stormy Night 

109 


the contributions from her grandmother was 
a large box of candy. 

We’ll have some,” promised Henrietta, 
as soon as we get back to camp.” 

Naturally Mabel, who was inordinately fond 
of sweet things and who had had no candy 
for a week, forgot all about her gray sweater, 
so near the color of the rocks that nobody else 
noticed it. But, notwithstanding the discom- 
fort she endured without it, she was glad 
afterwards that she had forgotten it. 


CHAPTER XI 
Drg Clotbca for jFive 

T NSPIRED by the prospect of candy, Mabel 
was eager for the campward trail. This 
trail was wide and clearly marked near 
Barclay's, so Mabel ran gaily ahead; but the 
others followed closely at her heels — it was too 
windy for much lingering on that exposed 
shore. 

Mabel, with just one thought in her head, 
started heedlessly to run across the log that 
spanned the river. If a squirrel hadn’t started 
at the same moment from the other end, Mabel 
might have rushed safely across. But, startled 
by the sudden, affrighted chattering of the sur- 
prised squirrel, Mabel stopped, staggered, 
swayed, and began to clutch wildly for sup- 
port. She found it in the scarlet necktie of 
Henrietta’s blouse. 

Henrietta, clutched by the throat, as it were, 
seized Mabel with one hand and Marjory with 


no 




Dry Clothes for Five 

1 1 1 


the other in order to sustain her own suddenly- 
disturbed balance. For a moment, all three 
swayed uncertainly. Then, there was a mighty 
splash. All three were gone! 

The disturbed river bottom sent up bubbles 
of mud, a hand, a foot, then a bedraggled hair 
ribbon. Mr. Black, followed by courageous 
Jean, plunged to the rescue. In a moment, they 
had all three of the struggling, half-strangled 
girls on their feet. As the river bottom was 
of the softest of mud, no one was hurt; but 
the rescuers as well as the rescued were com- 
pletely drenched. 

“ Now, see here, Mabel,’’ said Mr. Black, 
wiping that subdued young person’s dripping 
countenance with his own wet handkerchief, 
“ you’ll have this whole camp drowned if you 
don’t look out. After this, you’re to stick to 
solid earth. I’m in earnest about this, Mabel. 
You’re not to attempt to cross this log again, 
unless I’m with you.” 

“ You were here this time,” complained the 
dripping culprit. 

“ It’s a good thing I was. Jean would have 


1 12 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

had a fine time fishing the three of you out 
of that mud. Now, we’ll just wade across here 
where it isn’t so deep — we can’t get any wetter 
than we are — and race home before we begin to 
feel cold.” 

They raced as well as they could, in clinging 
garments and water-soaked shoes; but they 
presented a curious sight as they trailed into 
the clearing. Mrs. Crane and Bettie advanced 
eagerly to greet them. 

‘‘ Company ! ” warned Bettie, running ahead. 

Two young men that drove up in a buckboard 
to spend the day fishing in our river — Mr. 
Saunders sent some letters by them. Thought 
I’d tell you so you could prink a little, Henri- 
etta — my goodness ! What’s happened ? ” 

“ I’ve been fishing in the river myself,” ex- 
plained Mr. Black, “ and this is what I caught 
— three very much speckled trout.” 

‘‘ My land ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Crane. 
“ What an awful mess ! ” 

** It’s just mud,” said Marjory. “ A few 
of us landed head first in several inches of it. 
It was Mabel, of course, that pulled us in — 


Dry Clothes for Five 113 

she fell off the big log on the trail to Bar- 
clay’s/’ ' 

Well, you’re certainly a sight,” laughed 
Bettie, turning back with her friends. “ I don’t 
know which of you looks worst.” 

They all do,” groaned Mrs. Crane. “ And 
here was I just telling those two young men 
that we had with us as pretty a lot of children 
as they’d find in the state ! ” 

The young men, seated on one of the 
benches, looked at the ‘‘ pretty lot of chil- 
dren.” Then, throwing back their heads, they 
laughed uproariously. 

‘‘We knew there were fish in the river,’^ said 
one of the visitors, “ but we hadn’t been told 
about your mermaids.” 

“ I’ve caught two lots this spring,” said Mr. 
Black, “ but this is my largest — and, I hope, my 
last — haul. This sort of fishing is hard on 
my limited wardrobe.” 

“ Dear me,” said Mrs. Crane, “ these shiv- 
ering scarecrows must get out of their wet gar- 
ments at once. Here, Jean, you and Henri- 
etta may dress in my tent — I’ll bring your 


1 14 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

clothes. And, girls, throw all your wet gar- 
ments outside — don’t drop them on the blan- 
kets.” 

The visitors declined an invitation to dinner, 
as they had brought an ample lunch ; but before 
departing they helped Mrs. Crane stretch a 
long clothesline between two trees in the 
clearing. 

“ These things should be washed,” said Mrs. 
Crane, fastening the garments to the line with 
all the safety pins the camp afforded, “ but 
we can’t use the lake just now and it’s a little 
too far to a place that is just the right depth 
in the river.” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested Bettie, helpfully, 

most of the mud will brush off when the 
things are dry.” 

‘‘ The sand will, anyway. I hope those girls 
can find enough clothes to put on.” 

They have the ones they came in,” said 
Bettie, ‘‘ and Jean’s bundle was extra large.” 

The active castaways, clothed in dry gar- 
ments, spent a busy if not particularly excit- 
ing afternoon exploring the trails that led from 


Dry Clothes for Five 115 

the clearing. They gathered flowers, mush- 
rooms, firewood, birch bark, moss, ferns, and 
even a few wild strawberries. Dave, who was 
mysterious in his comings and goings, taught 
them how to make willow whistles and prom- 
ised to show them some day how to catch 
chipmunks. 

“ I think,” said Jean, when the campers had 
assembled for supper, ‘‘ that this camp should 
have a name. We might call it ‘ Camp Com- 
fort.’ ” 

“ Everybody that has a camp,” objected Mr. 
Black, “ calls it that. Let’s have something 
truly poetic.” 

We might,” suggested Henrietta, name it 
the Black Basin.” 

That,” demurred Bettie, ‘‘ seems awfully 
pirate-y. Bob has a book about pirates that 
used to hide in a cave called the ‘ Black Basin ’ 
— I’d be afraid to go to bed nights in a Black 
Basin.” 

“ Perhaps,” offered Henrietta, “ ‘ The 
Crane’s Cove ’ would sound safer.” 

That doesn’t work right,” protested Mar- 


ii6 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

jory, wiggling her small pink tongue comic- 
ally. Td always be saying ‘ Crane’s Crove.’ ” 

‘^Besides/’ said Jean, ‘That isn’t romantic 
enough. We want something like ‘ Lover’s 
Leap,’ or ‘ Breezy Bluff,’ or ‘ River’s Rest.’ ” 

Just then Dave approached with an offering 
for Jean — he had already given her his best 
willow whistle and a partridge wing. This 
time it was a fine speckled trout, bigger than 
any that Mr. Black had been able to hook. 

“ Where’d you catch him? ” asked Mr. Black. 

Dave shrugged his shoulders and replied 
evasively : “ Pretty goo’ fishin’ groun’ here at 
‘ Pete’s Patch.’ ” 

“ Where’s Pete’s Patch ? ” demanded Mr. 
Black, suspiciously. 

“ Right here,” replied Dave, with a gesture 
that included Mr. Black’s entire property. 
“ He name after you — Ah name heem maself.” 

“ That’s nerve for you,” breathed Henrietta. 

“ Pete’s Patch ! ” murmured Mr. Black, who 
seemed decidedly taken aback. “ Pete’s 
Patch!” 


Dry Clothes for Five 117 

Then the surprised gentleman caught Bet- 
tie’s dancing eye and suddenly choked. 

“ What a lovely name,” teased impish Hen- 
rietta. So romantic ! So poetic ! I’m glad 
I came to Pete’s Patch — I think I’ll have to 
write some verses about it — something like this, 
for instance : 

If a trout or two you’d catch. 

Or of mushrooms like a batch — 

If a taste of heaven you’d snatch. 

Hie away unto Pete’s Patch.” 

‘‘ That’s pretty bad,” laughed Bettie, “ but 
it goes pretty well with the name.” 

Of course the name stuck. Mr. Black tried 
a number of times to think of a more suitable 
or finer sounding name for his beautiful lake- 
side camp, but Dave’s title was there to stay, 
so the amused castaways had to make the best 
of Pete’s Patch.” 

‘‘ Never mind, Peter,” Mrs. Crane would 
say, “ it’s a nice place, anyway; and the name 
goes very well with our birch-bark stationery.” 


CHAPTER XII 


/Bbabel'e Bstonfabing Diacovecg 

HE campers rose the next morning with- 



out suspecting that a very strange thing 
was about to happen; or that Mabel, who was 
still in disgrace because of her habit of half 
drowning her trusting companions, was, on 
that never-to-be-forgotten day, as they say in 
books, to cover herself with glory — instead of 


mud. 


The inhabitants of Pete’s Patch rose to find 
the sun shining, the wind gone, the lake set- 
tled back in its proper place. 

“ The sea began to subside before I turned 
in last night,” said Mr. Black. “ It’s as gentle 
as a lamb to-day.” 

Look at the shore ! ” cried Marjory. ‘‘ It’s 
different. The beach that was sandy before the 
storm is all pebbly now ; and down there where 
the cobblestones were it’s all beautiful, smooth 
sand.” 


1x8 


Mabel’s Astonishing Discovery 119 

‘‘ And look,” supplemented Jean, ‘‘ at the 
mouth of that surprising river. It’s a lot wider 
than it was when we came.” 

Some time to-day,” said Mr. Black, “ I 
want to go to the little cove about halfway 
between here and Barclay’s Point. That seems 
to be the spot that catches everything that is 
cast up by the sea. I need some thin boards 
for your cupboard, Sarah. I noticed the other 
day that the sharp cleft in the rocks back of 
that cove was filled with boards.” 

That’s an awfully interesting spot,” said 
Jean. “If sailors threw bottles overboard 
with letters in them, that’s where you’d find 
them — everything washes in at that spot.” 

“ Or,” said Henrietta, “ if the captain 
lashed his only daughter to the mast and threw 
her overboard, that’s where she’d land.” 

“ Oh, I hope not,” breathed tender-hearted 
Bettie. 

“ So do I,” laughed Henrietta, with an imp- 
ish glance at Mr. Black. “Think of being 
wrecked on the reef of Pete’s Patch ! ” 

“ Norman’s Woe certainly sounds better,” 


120 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

agreed Mr. Black, but let us hope that no 
one got wrecked any place. Now I must take 
a look at the Whale — I’m wondering how she 
weathered the storm.” 

“ It’s my turn to wash dishes,” announced 
Jean. 

“And mine to wipe,” said Henrietta. 

“ Then Bettie and I will do the beds,” said 
Marjory, quickly. 

Mabel, left out in the cold, scowled darkly 
for a moment. Then she sat up very stiffly in- 
deed. 

“ I shall go all by myself and pick up two 
big baskets of driftwood,’^ said she. 

“ To-morrow morning,” offered sympa- 
thetic Jean, “ you’re invited to do dishes with 
me, Mabel.” 

“And beds with me,” added impish Hen- 
rietta. 

“ And to wash potatoes with me,” teased 
Marjory. 

“ Why not let me do all the work ? ” queried 
Mabel, huffily. “ But I will do dishes with 
you, Jean. I know you meant to be polite.” 


Mabel’s Astonishing Discovery 121 

Presently Mabel, with two of the big baskets 
that had come with the provisions, slid down 
the sand bank to the beach. It was certainly a 
fine morning. Within two minutes, sturdy 
Mabel had forgotten that the others were 
paired off and that she was the odd one. 

“ The sky is blue, blue, blue,^’ sang Mabel, 
marching up the smooth, hard beach; ‘‘ the 
water is blue, blue, blue with golden sparkles; 
and the air is warm enough and cool enough 
and clean, clean, cle — ow ! ’’ 

A leisurely wave had crept in and made a 
playful dash for Mabel’s heedless feet. 

You got me that time,” beamed friendly 
Mabel. I guess you wanted to remind me 
that I was out after wood. All right, Mr. 
Lake, I’ll walk closer to the bank. My ! What 
nice little blocks for our fire. I love to find 
things.” 

Soon both baskets were filled; but by this 
time Mabel was well out of sight of the camp, 
having passed two of the little rocky points 
that extended into the lake, north of Pete’s 
Patch. 


122 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

I wish I had a hundred baskets to fill,” 
sighed Mabel. I guess I’ll leave these right 
here and go a little farther; it’s such a nice 
day and I love to go adventuring. Oh! I 
know what I’ll do; I’ll go to Barclay’s Point 
after my sweater — I hope it hasn’t blown 
away.” 

So Mabel, with a definite object in view, 
started at a brisker pace toward Barclay’s. 
Presently she reached the cove mentioned by 
Mr. Black as a catch-all for floating timber. 
The water was deeper at this place and a strong 
current carried quantities of driftwood to this 
wide, bowl-shaped cove. In severe storms, 
some of it was tossed high among the rocks 
and gnarled roots in a ravine-like cleft at the 
back. Nearer the water, many great logs, par- 
tially embedded in the sand, caught and held 
the lighter material tossed in by the waves. 

‘‘ Oh ! ” cried Mabel, “ I wish I had a mil- 
lion baskets! I know what I’ll do. I’ll just 
toss a lot of those go-in- a-basket pieces into 
a big pile way up there where the waves can’t 
get them.” 


Mabel’s Astonishing Discovery 123 

Gathering up the edges of her skirt, sturdy 
Mabel filled it with the clean, if not particu- 
larly (ky, bits pf wood, worn satin-smooth and 
white by long buffetings against graveled 
shores. 

‘‘ I’ll throw them behind that log,” decided 
Mabel, toiling inland with her heavy burden. 
“ They’ll be perfectly safe up there — My ! But 
they’re pretty heavy. I guess there’s room 
back of that big log for a whole wag — wow! 
owl ” 

Mabel’s final syllable was a curious, startled 
sound. While not precisely a gasp, a shriek, 
or a shout, it was a queer combination of all 
three. 

Mabel was startled, and with good reason. 
The space behind the log was already occu- 
pied; and by something that looked human. 

The surprised little girl saw first a pair of 
water-soaked shoes attached to two very thin, 
boyish legs in black stockings. Beyond the 
stockings was a gray mass of tangled fish-net 
wound about something bulky and white that 
Mabel concluded was a life-preserver. Beyond 


124 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

that, an extended arm was partly buried in the 
sand. A thin, white hand was firmly closed 
over a sharply projecting point of rock. Very 
close against the huge log, so close as to be 
almost under it, was a shining, golden ball, the 
back of a boy’s close-cropped head. 

For a long moment Mabel, who had uncon- 
sciously dropped her load on her own toes, 
stood still and gazed questioningly at her un- 
expected find. Then the astonished little ad- 
venturer climbed over the wood she had 
dropped, bent down, and, with one finger, 
touched the boy’s stocking, gingerly. 

If — if he’d been here very long,” she said, 
sagely, his stockings would have been faded. 
Things fade pretty fast on the lake shore. 
Perhaps if I poke him he’ll wake up.” 

Mabel prodded the un faded legs very gently 
with a pointed stick. There was no response. 

I guess he’s dead,” she sighed. ‘‘ But I 
s’pose I ought to feel his pulse to find out for 
sure — ugh ! I sort of hate to — suppose he is 
dead ! ” 

But, bravely overcoming her distaste for this 



The space behind the log was already occupied 




Mabel’s Astonishing Discovery 125 

obvious duty, Mabel laid a trembling finger on 
the slim white hand. It was not as cold and 
clammy as she had feared to find it. Mabel 
touched it again, this time with several fin- 
gers. Yes, the hand was actually a little bit 
warm. 

As she bent closer to the golden head, it 
seemed to Mabel that she could detect a sound 
of breathing, rather heavy breathing, Mabel 
thought; a little like Mrs. Crane’s, when that 
good lady snored. 

Mabel crouched patiently near the prostrate 
lad and listened. The labored breathing cer- 
tainly came from that recumbent boy. 

But,” argued Mabel, “ if he’s only taking 
a nap, why is he all tangled up in that net? 
And there’s that life-preserver. He’s been 
wrecked and tossed up, I believe. And he’s 
still all wet underneath. Perhaps I ought to 
wake him up — he ought not to sleep in such 
wet clothes.” 

So Mabel grasped her discovery very firmly 
by one thin shoulder and shook him quite vig- 
orously; but he still slept. Then, clutching him 


126 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

by both shoulders, she succeeded in dragging 
the heavy sleeper a few inches from the log; 
but he seemed rather too firmly anchored to 
his resting-place for this method to work suc- 
cessfully. Still, she had gained something, 
for now one ear and a bit of one cheek were 
visible. They were not white like the extended 
hand, but darkly red and very hot to the touch. 

‘‘ Boy ! ” called Mabel. “ Why don’t you 
wake up? Don’t you know that you’re not 
drowned ? Wake up, I say ! Whoo ! Whoo ! 
Whoo!^^ 

But the boy, in spite of what should have 
proved alarming sounds, made, as they were, 
in his very ear, still slumbered on in a strange, 
baffling fashion; and Mabel, after watching 
him in a puzzled way for several moments 
longer, found a broad shingle, which she bal- 
anced neatly on the boy’s unconscious head. 

That’ll keep the sun off,” said she, while 
I’m gone for help.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


JBreaWng tbe 1Rcw0 

J WONDER/’ said Marjory, who, perched 
on the edge of the bank, was shaking 
the sand from a dried bathing suit, “ what’s 
happened to Mabel. She’s running down the 
beach like mad. And calling! I guess she 
wants somebody.” 

“If you'd keep quiet,” suggested Henrietta, 
“ perhaps you could hear what she says.” 

“ It’s ‘ Mr. Bla-a-a-a-a-ack ! ’ ” mimicked 
Marjory. 

Mabel was breathless by the time she reached 
the foot of the steep sand bank, just below 
the camp. 

“ Oh,” she panted. “ Mr. Black — get him, 
quick. And, Jean, you come. And, Mrs. Crane 
— scissors I I must have scissors. Phew ! ” 

“Be quiet a moment,” advised motherly 
Mrs. Crane, from the bank. “ Sit right down 
where you are and rest till you get your breath. 

127 


128 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Marjory, you’re the quickest — you run for Mr. 
Black; he’s just started for the wigwam to see 
if he can find Dave. Jean, I’ll trust you with 
my scissors; but I’m going to tie them to you 
with a piece of string. There! Now we’ll 
go down to Mabel. 

“ Now,” said Mrs. Crane, when that stout 
lady had made a careful descent of the sandy 
bank, tell us exactly what’s happened, Ma- 
bel.” 

It’s a boy ! ” panted Mabel, ‘‘ and he isn’t 
dead.” 

“ Most boys aren’t,” encouraged Bettie, who 
had a large number of lively brothers. Go 
on, Mabel.” 

“ I found him on the beach.” ' 

“ Well,” scoffed Henrietta, ‘‘ I guess a boy 
on a beach isn’t anything so wonderful.” 

‘‘ How did he get there ? ” queried Mrs. 
Crane. 

“ Washed up, I guess. I thought he was 
drowned. He’s most dead.” 

‘‘Where? Where?” shrieked Henrietta, 
with sudden interest. 




Breaking the New^s 

129 


“Where? Where?” echoed Bettie. 

Just then Marjory flung herself breathlessly 
over the edge of the bank with Mr. Black, 
also short of breath, close at her heels. 

“What’s it all about?” demanded Mr. 
Black. “ Has Mabel fallen in again? ” 

“ Get the bread-knife, somebody,” ordered 
Mabel, now sufficiently recovered to scramble 
to her feet, “ and follow me.” 

“ I have a knife,” said Mr. Black, display- 
ing as bloodthirsty a bit of cutlery as one would 
want to see. “ Saunders thought I might need 
a hunting knife. If you’ve caught a deer I’ll 
skin him for you.” 

“ I guess,” laughed Bettie, “ she doesn’t 
want her game skinned. She’s found a boy.” 

Presently the procession, headed proudly by 
Mabel, who now felt very important indeed 
and would allow none of her impatient fol- 
lowers to pass her, was marching up the beach. 
She was, however, too breathless for speed. 

“Couldn’t you go a little faster?” pleaded 
Marjory. 

“ No, I couldn’t,” panted Mabel. “ And, if 


130 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

you run ahead of me, you won’t know where 
to turn off — so there.” 

“ Tell us more about it,” begged Henrietta. 
‘‘ Pve always been crazy to rescue a ship- 
wrecked crew ! ” 

No,” said Mabel, ‘‘ I want my breath to 
walk with.” 

Fortunately, the beach was smooth and hard; 
the excited campers soon reached the cove. 
Mabel, thoughtfully pausing long enough for 
Mrs. Crane and Bettie to catch up, led them 
to the big, half-buried log. 

‘‘There!” said she, pointing to what was 
behind it. That’s the boy.” 

Bettie, Marjory, and Henrietta peered 
eagerly over the log. Jean, Mrs. Crane, and 
Mr. Black hurried behind it. Mr. Black 
whipped out his knife, dropped to his knees, 
and began to cut at the mesh of the stout net. 
After a moment Jean assisted with the scissors. 

Mrs. Crane patted the boy’s hand and laid 
her own motherly palm against his cheek. 

“ Poor lamb ! Poor lamb ! ” she murmured. 

Presently the lad was freed from the net 


Breaking the News 13 1 

and the life-preserver and gently lifted from 
the wet wreckage to the warm, dry sand. His 
eyes were closed, his breathing jerky and 
strange, his whole countenance deeply flushed. 
Big tears rolled down Mabel’s cheeks as she 
looked at the limp, pathetic figure. 

“ That boy,” said Mrs. Crane, is terribly 
ill with a fever. Goodness only knows how 
long he’s been imprisoned here, chilled and 
shivering, before this fever came on.” 

“ Or just when the waves flung him behind 
that log,” said Mr. Black. “ It might have 
been early last night, any time yesterday, or 
even during the previous night. He was lashed 
to something with that net — yes, here it is; 
a piece of rotten pole as thick as my arm — 
possibly a mast or part of a raft. But what 
concerns us just now is what we’re to do for 
him.” 

‘‘ He’s certainly a sick boy,” agreed Mrs. 
Crane, “ and there’s nobody but us to help 
him.” 

Mabel,” said Mr. Black, “ you’d better take 
off his shoes — he’ll be lighter without them. 


132 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Sarah, you’d better hurry back to camp and 
fix a bed for him in your tent. Jean, you go 
with her, build a fire, and put some water on 
to boil — a little hot broth might help. If you 
other girls will boost him a little, when I say 
the word, I think I can carry him.” 

The girls boosted. Mr. Black, with the long, 
thin boy hanging limply over his shoulder, 
started toward camp. Mabel, a wet shoe dan- 
gling from each hand, plodded after. 

‘‘Isn’t it exciting?” breathed bright-eyed 
Henrietta, falling into line. “ A boy right out 
of the skies.” 

“ I guess you mean right out of the lake,” 
corrected Marjory. “ I hope he’ll wake up 
pretty soon — I’m dying to know how he got 
behind that log.” 

“ Perhaps it was a good thing,” said Bettie, 
“ that the log was there. The end of that pole 
swung under the log and held him right there, 
or the waves might have carried him out again 
or hurled him against the rocks — ugh ! ” 

“ His father,” declared Henrietta, dreamily, 
“ was the captain of a gallant ship. When the 


Breaking the News 133 

vessel was about to sink he said : ‘ Men ! Save 
yourselves. As for me, I perish with her.’ 
Then he lashed his only son to the mast of 
the sinking ship ” 

“What for?” demanded practical Marjory. 

“ I guess maybe he didn’t,” amended Henri- 
etta, reflectively. “ He made a raft out of one 
of the hatches and tied him to that with the 
only thing he had at hand — a fish-net.” 

“ But first,” added Marjory, “ he fastened 
a life-preserver about him.” 

“ If I could run the way I used to,” said 
thoughtful little Betty (this was the longest 
walk she had taken since her arrival at Pete’s 
Patch), “ I’d rush ahead and help Mrs. Crane 
with that bed. As it is. I’m willing to help 
with one of the baskets we’re coming to — I 
guess Mabel’s forgotten all about them.” 

“ I’ll help Mrs. Crane,” promised nimble- 
footed Marjory, “ if you and Henrietta will 
bring the wood — they may need it for the fire 
that Jean is to build.” 

Mr. Black undressed the thin, still-uncon- 
scious lad, wrapped him in a warm blanket (his 


134 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

feet, Mrs. Crane said, were like lumps of ice), 
and tucked him into bed. 

‘‘ If we were in town,” declared Mrs. Crane, 
Td send for the doctor,” 

Just what I’m going to do, as soon as 
Dave turns up. I’ll go to his wigwam now — 
perhaps he’s back. Too bad there isn’t any 
medicine ” 

“ But there is,” said Mrs. Crane. Mrs. 
Tucker sent a bottle to Bettie to be used in 
case her fever should return. She sent a 
tonic, too, but neither bottle has been opened. 
If you think it’s safe ” 

‘‘ Good for Mrs. Tucker! Give that boy a 
dose of the fever medicine — he certainly needs 
that. Now for Dave — I’d like to get him 
started for Lakeville at once.” 

Dave, however, was not to be found. His 
ways were strange and mysterious; he had an 
inconvenient habit of disappearing without 
warning for hours at a stretch. No one would 
see him go. He would set out, ostensibly for 
his wigwam; but if Mr. Black followed him 
to that habitation, as he sometimes did, no sign 


Breaking the News 135 

would he find of Dave. This time, the canoe 
was gone, also, and, of course, Dave’s dog. 

He hasn’t shown up,” said Mr. Black, re- 
turning from the wigwam. I suppose he rose 
at daybreak and took to the lake ; for his canoe 
isn’t in the river. And here I am paying him 
to bring water and wood for us and help with 
the boats.” 

“ Paying him ! ” gasped Mrs. Crane, “ when 
he lived on your land for four years without 
paying rent ? Peter! ” 

“ Well,” returned Mr. Black, it’s only a 
dollar a day. Perhaps that isn’t enough — I’ll 
raise his wages ! ” 

“ But that poor boy ” 

‘'We’ll just have to wait until Dave gets 
back, I suppose. But you can dose the boy 
with Bettie’s fever medicine — not the tonic — 
and perhaps we can pull him through.” 

“ Anyway, we’ll try,” assured Mrs. Crane. 


CHAPTER XIV 


JT was Thursday when Mabel discovered the 
boy, Friday morning Dave was still miss- 
ing and the lad was still unconscious. 

‘‘He must have been a pretty tough little 
chap to start with/' declared Mrs. Crane, when 
all the members of her always-hungry family 
had been bountifully served with steaming 
breakfast food, “ or he never would have lasted 
as long as .this with such a fever. I wish 
Dave was here. He ought to have a doctor; 
and, if the boy’s people live in Lakeville, they’ll 
surely want to know that he’s alive.” 

“ We’ve been talking about that,” said Jean, 
“ and we don’t think he is a Lakeville 
boy.” 

“ You see,” explained Marjory, “ he must 
be about twelve or thirteen years old — some- 
where between Mabel’s age and Henrietta’s. 
If he’d been in school one or another of us 
136 


A Missing Messenger 137 

would have seen him — we’re scattered all over, 
you know.” 

“ And I,” said Henrietta, am scattered 
about in all the grades, because I’m so smart 
and so stupid in spots.” 

“ But perhaps,” suggested Mr. Black, “ this 
illness has altered his appearance.” 

“ It couldn’t change his hair,” asserted Ma- 
bel. “ It’s a very queer color.” 

** Yes,” agreed Mrs. Crane, “ it’s a most un- 
usual shade — very bright and glistening like 
ruddy gold. There’s a tinge of copper to it 
and yet it’s golden. If only Dave were 
here ” 

“ I could walk to Lakeville myself,” began 
Mr. Black, reflectively, but ” 

‘‘ But you’re not going to,” protested his 
sister. We can’t stay here without a man. 
Besides, if anything happened to you on the 
way down, where should we be ? ” 

‘‘ At Pete’s Patch, I suspect,” twinkled Mr. 
Black. ** Suppose you give that boy some hot 
sponge baths — that may help a little.” 

** But, goodness ! ” objected Mabel, “ he must 


138 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

be perfectly soaked with water — his clothes 
were drenched/’ 

Still,” said Mr. Black, baths are bene- 
ficial to fever patients.” 

IVe been putting mild mustard plasters on 
his chest,” confessed anxious Mrs. Crane. “ I 
didn’t like his breathing — it sounded too much 
like pneumonia yesterday; but it’s a bit better 
to-day. And I’ll try those baths.” 

** I haven’t much faith in your mustard plas- 
ters,” asserted Mr. Black, teasingly. ‘‘ You’re 
too tender-hearted to make one strong enough 
to do any good.” 

‘‘I’m not,” retorted Mrs. Crane; “but 
there’s no sense in blistering folks.” 

“ I’m glad there’s a really sick person in this 
camp,” said Bettie, “ because now, perhaps, I 
can persuade you to believe that I’m most as 
well as ever. I had two long walks yesterday 
and I feel just fine to-day.” 

“ Did you sleep well ? ” queried Mrs. Crane, 
anxiously. “ I declare, with all this excite- 
ment, I forgot to ask you.” 

“ Only five minutes,” said Bettie, in a sor- 


A Missing Messenger 139 

rowful tone. '' I shut my eyes at eight o’clock 
last night and when I opened them it was only 
five minutes after eight.” 

‘‘Last night?” pursued Mrs. Crane, anx- 
iously. 

“ No, this morning,” replied Bettie, de- 
murely, “ but the clock said five minutes, and it 
didn’t seem like any more than that.” 

Among the many things that Mrs. Crane 
had ordered from town was a truly alarming 
alarm clock. Although it went off faithfully 
and with astonishing vigor at seven every 
morning, no one ever heard it after the first 
day except Mrs. Crane. The campers, never 
very early risers, grew lazier every day — and 
fatter ! Mabel, always exceedingly plump, was 
now so rotund that Mrs. Crane was obliged to 
tie loops of twine in all her buttonholes. Bet- 
tie’s cheeks and the calves of her legs were cer- 
tainly rounding into new and pleasing curves. 
Tall Jean was casting a wider shadow, shapely 
Henrietta had punched two new holes in her 
tight leather belt; and it was now possible to 
pinch the hitherto unpinchable Marjory. Their 


140 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

complexions, too, had undergone curious 
changes. Mabel had gained a generous sprin- 
ting of very fine, very dark freckles. Mar- 
jory’s blue-white skin was dotted with a lim- 
ited number of very large, pale tan-colored 
freckles. Henrietta was tinged a rich even 
brown, except where a fine red glowed in her 
dark cheeks. Most of the time Jean was a 
brilliant scarlet; for her tender skin burned 
easily and her nose, as Bettie said, was dis- 
reputably ragged, for it peeled every day or 
two. So did the edges of her ears. As for 
Bettie, her yellowish pallor was gone and a 
fine, rose-colored flush now tinged her lips and 
her cheeks. Her big, dark eyes were brighter 
and merrier than the girls had ever seen them. 

‘‘ Another ten days in camp,” asserted Mr. 
Black, pinching Bettie’s firm cheek, and 
you’ll all be wearing Mrs. Crane’s clothes. 
Your own mothers won’t know you by the 
time we’re ready to go home.” 

They won’t want to,” laughed Marjory, 
“ if we all gain as Mabel has. Look at her 
back! ” 


A Missing Messenger 141 

It was really a shockingly untidy back, be- 
cause bits of Mabel and Mabel’s underwear 
stuck out beween the loops. 

“ She drinks so much water,” complained 
Henrietta, “ that my arm just aches from fill- 
ing her cup.” 

‘‘ Put the pail beside her,” suggested Mr. 
Black. “ Water’s the one thing that can’t give 
out.” 

“ That reminds me,” said Mrs. Crane, “ we’ll 
need a lot of things by the time Dave goes 
to town again. My list is growing bigger 
every minute.” 

‘‘ Like Mabel,” breathed Marjory, teasingly. 

“ Well,” sighed Mabel — and the sigh burst 
two of her loops — “ I shall ask for a very 
wide sailor-jumper to pull on over my head. 
The knots in those loops are pretty bumpy. 
If I were to sneeze, they’d all go, I guess.” 

Mrs. Crane, of course, appropriated most 
of the care of the newest castaway. But the 
willing girls helped in many ways. 

‘'They are my feet,” said slow-moving, 
stiff-jointed Mrs. Crane. “They bring me 


142 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

everything I need and save me hundreds of 
steps every day. They’re all as good as gold, 
Peter.” 

“ They’re better” declared Mr. Black. ‘‘ I 
wish they all belonged to me — anyway, we’ll 
enjoy ’em while we can.” 

Sometimes one or another of the girls was 
permitted to sit beside the sleeping boy for half 
an hour, while Mrs. Crane busied herself with 
the camp cooking — ^no one else, the good lady 
was certain, could plan the meals; but nursing 
proved rather an uninteresting task, because 
there was really nothing that one could do. 
The girls found cooking rather more to their 
taste and were able to relieve Mrs. Crane of 
many of her culinary burdens. Jean, however, 
was the only one who could fry the fine brook 
trout that Mr. Black sometimes caught in the 
attractive river. 

“ They’re all right after they’re cooked,” 
shuddered Marjory, that afternoon, when Mr. 
Black brought in a pretty string of fish, cleaned 
and ready to fry, “ but I couldn't touch a raw 
one — ugh I ” 


A Missing Messenger 143 

“ Neither could 1” said Henrietta, but An- 
thony Fitz-Hubert could — see, he’s just crazy 
for one this minute.” 

‘‘ Here’s one with his name on it,” said Mr. 
Black, presenting the little cat with a small 
specimen. That one is under-sized, so it 
wouldn’t do for us to be caught with it; but 
they couldn’t arrest or fine Anthony, because 
he’s too active and too poor. How would you 
girls like to try fishing?” 

“ We’d like it,” responded Henrietta. ^ 
‘‘ Once, when I was very small, I went fishing 
in Scotland, in a little rushing river; and once, 
in France, a little peasant boy let me hold his 
rod for a few minutes.” 

“ Well,” promised Mr. Black, some day 
I’ll take you all fishing. After you’ve caught 
a trout or two you won’t mind handling them. 
But just now I can’t afford to be reckless with 
the bait — we’ll get a bigger supply next time.” 

‘‘I’ve heard it said,” laughed Mrs. Crane, 

“ that there’s a stingy streak in everybody, if 
you know just where to look for it; we’ve 
found yours, Peter; it’s fish-worms.” 


144 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Well, they’re mighty scarce in this part 
of the country. I dug for nearly an hour 
along the river bank and found only one. Fll 
send word to Martin, next time, and have him 
dig a pailful in our garden.” 

“ He’ll dig up everything else, too,” sighed 
Mrs. Crane, ‘‘but never mind. But that re- 
minds me of Dave. Marjory, I wish you and 
Henrietta would see if that rascal has slipped 
in by some back way to his wigwam. I de- 
clare I never thought that I’d want to set eyes 
on that homely half-breed, but I’d give a dol- 
lar, this very minute, to see him.” 

Mrs. Crane, however, was not called on to 
part with her dollar. The messengers re- 
turned without Dave. 

“ Not a single sign of him,” said Henrietta, 
“ and we called until all the little squirrels sat 
up and scolded us for making such a noise.’' 

“ He’s out for venison, I fear,” said Mr. 
Black, who was counting his seven precious 
fish-worms. “ He has no regard whatever for 
the game laws. I shall give him a good talk- 
ing to when he returns.” 


A Missing Messenger 145 

“ You’d better wait,” suggested Mrs. Crane, 
“ until after he’s been to Lakeville.” 

You’d better wait,’.’ laughed saucy Henri- 
etta, “ until you see him.” 

‘‘ Anyway,” said Mr. Black, we must all 
remember to stand between Dave and the game 
warden, if that officer ever visits Pete’s Patch.” 

“ No really respectable game warden,” 
laughed Henrietta, ‘‘ would ever visit a camp 
with a name like that.” 

That’s a nice name,” championed Mabel. 

It’s plain and sensible like Mr. Black. I like 
things that are plain and sort of — homely.” 

At this, everybody (including Mr. Black, 
who might easily have been much homelier 
than he was) laughed merrily; for Mabel, 
cheerful little blunderer, usually managed to 
give a queer twist to her compliments. 

“Anyhow,” said Mabel, rather huffily, “I 
meant to be polite.” 

“ You were” assured Mr. Black, patting the 
hunched shoulder, “because it’s our meaning 
that counts; and we all know that you meant 
wxll.” 


146 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

I wonder/' queried Jean, ‘‘ if Dave does? ” 
I fear," returned Mr. Black, “ that the 
workings of that rascal’s mind would be pretty 
hard to follow — let’s see if his boat is in 
sight." 

But it wasn’t, so Mr. Black got the wood 
and the water that he was paying Dave to 
bring and arranged the evening bonfire. 

And the sick boy, in spite of the young 
campers’ impatience to learn his story, still 
slept. Mrs. Crane, by this time, was almost 
sure that he would never waken. 


CHAPTER XV 


Doctor Dave 

daybreak the next morning the barking 
of a dog wakened the sleeping camp. Mr. 
Black pulled on his clothes and went sleepily 
down to the water's edge, where Onota, 
Dave's yellow dog, was running madly about, 
uttering excited yelps. 

“ Heem glad for got home," explained Dave, 
who had beached his canoe and was gathering 
up its contents. 

‘‘What have you got?" asked Mr. Black. 

Dave displayed a small doe, not yet skinned. 

“ Dose bigges' one — som’ beeg buck, Ah’m 
t’ink — she ees bus’ up ma trap," Dave com- 
plained, “ so Ah’m snare dose li’le doe. He 
ees good meat, all right." 

“ Dave, you scalawag, you ought to be in 
jail. I’ll wager there isn’t a game law that 
you haven’t broken." 

“ He ees mos’ all for you," assured Dave, 
147 


148 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

ingratiatingly. “ You got fine dinner off heem 
ver’ soon — I skeen heem for you, bam-bye. 
She's good meat, dose young-lady deer.’' 

“ I ought to tell the game warden on you. 
Don’t you know that you’re breaking game 
laws ? ” 

Ah’m t’ink maybe Ah’m crack dose law 
som’,” admitted Dave; but me. Ah mus’ eat 
li’le deer meat som’ tarn’, halso dose ^d^rtridge, 
maybe som’ duck, too.” 

“ Well,” warned Mr. Black, helplessly, 
“ don’t expect me to help you out if you get 
caught. And now, Dave, I wish you’d stay 
right here for awhile; I’ve got a job for you. 
I want you to go to Lakeville to-day — we’ve 
a sick boy up there and we need a doctor.” 

Seeck boy ? ” queried Dave. ‘‘ W’ere you 
got her from? W’at she ees seeck on herself 
wit’?” 

Mr. Black explained. 

‘‘ Dat’s all right,” Dave said. Bad cold on 
her long (lung). Ah cook you som’t’ing w’at 
feex her pooty good.” 

“ No, no,” protested Mr. Black, “ we want 




Doctor Dave 

149 


a doctor and a lot of other things. You must 
go to Lakeville. Til — yes, I’ll give you two 
dollars.” 

Maybe Ah go behind dinner,” promised 
Dave, uncertainly. Ah mus’ sleep, me, for 
two-t’ree hour— Ah’m chase dose deer hall 
night. Tell dose Jean, dose 'Qtitee, dose Ma- 
belle, and dose Henriette, eef he ees com’ roun’ 
pooty soon. Ah show heem how to skeen dose 
deer.” 

Notwithstanding the fact that his medical 
services had been declined, Dave began almost 
at once to search for herbs, dig for roots, and 
gather certain pungent leaves and twigs. 
These he covered carefully with water and 
placed over a slow fire in a most repulsive 
saucepan. By half-past eight o’clock, by which 
time the castaways were eating breakfast, Dave 
had obtained about half a pint of a queer- 
smelling, most unattractive-looking, greenish- 
black fluid. He carried this strange brew care- 
fully to the clearing, peered cautiously into 
Mrs. Crane’s unguarded tent, entered noise- 
lessly, and dropped the flap. Then, kneeling 


150 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

beside the helpless lad, the half-breed raised 
him gently and poured the contents of his 
blackened tin cup, a little at a time, down the 
boy’s throat. This accomplished successfully, 
Dave, much pleased with himself, emerged 
just in time to meet startled Mrs. Crane, re- 
turning to look at her charge. 

Dave,” she shrieked, noting the empty, not 
over-clean cup, what have you done ? ” 

Das all right, Mees Crane,” assured Dave. 
‘‘ Dose boy, she swallow good. Ev’rybody 
wait fi — seex hour. Dose boy sweat lak’ horse 
bam-bye — wake up weak like babee — open hees 
eye. Maybe she’s dead then, maybe she’s get 
well. You geeve her queek som’ brot’ — 
bouillon — w’at you call heem — soup, hey ? — be- 
hin’ dos beeg sweat. For mak’ her strong, 
dose seeck boy.” 

“ Dave,” moaned Mrs. Crane, who had 
seized the cup and was smelling it, you’ve 
surely killed that poor child ! ” 

“ Nong, nong,’' protested Dave. ‘‘ Dose ees 
ver’ goo’ medicine — Ah’m got her off ma gran’- 
modder.” 




Doctor Dave 

151 


Well,” growled Mr. Black, finding it dif- 
ficult to be stern, with five amused little girls 
giggling at his back. “If you get any more 
medicine off your grandmother I’ll throw you 
into the lake.” 

“ Hee ees been dead long tarn’ — dose gran’- 
modder.” 

“ Took her own medicine, I suppose,” said 
Mr. Black. “ Was she French or Indian? ” 

“Ojibway; som’ squaw — som’ Injun lady; 
ma fadaire, he French, from Canada w — speak 
no Englise. Ma modder Injun, sam’ lak ma 
gran’modder; he mak’ dose medicine, too. 
Bot’ dead, dose fadaire, dose modder.” 

“ No wonder,” breathed Henrietta. 

“ Mees Bet^^^,” said Dave, turning to go, 
“ you breeng dose odder girl — Ah show you 
how to skeen som’ deer. Maybe Ah’m geeve 
you dose tail. Dose liver — vaire fine meat, 
dose liver — ees for Jean.” 

At this the girls found it hard not to laugh 
outright, because, as they very well knew, Jean 
heartily disliked liver of any kind. But gentle- 
mannered Jean, who was always careful not to 


152 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

hurt any other person’s feelings, managed to 
say, prettily: 

‘‘Thank you, Dave; you’re very good to 
me.” 

“ You pooty nice girl,” returned Dave. 
“Ah mak’ som’ med’cine for dose sunburn 
hon your face.” 

“ Thank you,” faltered Jean, “ but I — but I 
like to be sunburned. I’ll be such a fine color 
after I’ve lost all my skin.” 

“ Dear me,” groaned Mrs. Crane, when the 
girls had trooped away at Dave’s heels, “ I was 
almost sure, this morning, that that boy was 
better. I put my hand on his forehead very 
early — when Dave’s dog barked, and it felt 
cool and even a little damp — as if the fever 
had left him for just a moment or two. And 
now Dave has probably finished him. That 
boy must have had a fine constitution to start 
with or that fever would have ended him yes- 
terday. That horrible medicine on top of 
everything else he’s gone through ” 

“ Well,” returned Mr. Black, “ we won’t 
gain anything by worrying about it. We’ll get 




Doctor Dave 

153 


Dave started after a real doctor as soon as 
possible — I’ll write a note to Doctor Bennett, 
so he can bring the proper medicines with him. 
Make out your list and put the girls at theirs 
as soon as they return — I’ll go after them pres- 
ently. That rascal said he’d start ‘ behind 
dinner.’ ” 

It was considerably ‘‘ behind ” the noon meal 
when Dave was ready to begin his long walk; 
but at last, with a little food tied in a soiled red 
handkerchief that dangled from a stick resting 
on his shoulder, he departed. Although Dave 
never looked particularly clean, although he 
was not especially handsome, there were mo- 
ments when, because of his picturesqueness, he 
decidedly pleased the eye. Now, with the 
touch of dangling scarlet at his back, all the 
rest of him except his rather long black hair 
an even, woodsy brown, Dave and the land- 
scape, harmoniously combined, made a truly 
attractive picture. But not for long. The 
leaves at the edge of the grassy clearing closed 
suddenly behind him; the castaways could not 
discover his trail ; but Dave must have guessed 


154 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

that they were trying to find it, for his laugh, 
always an unexpectedly musical sound, floated 
back to the searchers. 

‘‘ I hope,” said Jean, “ that he won’t be gone 
as long this time. Mrs. Crane is almost as 
worried about this boy as she was about Rosa 
Marie with the measles — ^perhaps more, be- 
cause she had the doctor to help her then.” 

Dave helped her this time,” said Marjory. 

I hope he’ll hurry, too,” returned Henri- 
etta. ‘‘ It seems a year since I ate the last 
crumb of candy out of my box.” 

‘‘ And we can’t make any,” mourned Mar- 
jory, “ because the sugar’s all but gone.” 

There’s only a little butter,” added Bettie, 
“and less than half a loaf of rye bread; but 
luckily we’ve plenty of flour and cornmeal. 
Biscuits and johnny-cake help a lot.” 

“ It’s a good thing,” said Mabel, “ that Mrs. 
Crane thought of sending for that old tin 
oven. I’d hate to be obliged to go hungry with 
the kind of appetite I’ve got now. I believe 
I could eat raw potatoes this minute.” 

“ You won’t have to,” assured Jean. 




Doctor Dave 

155 


“ There’s plenty of oatmeal and rice and a lot 
of things in packages. Oh, yes, and beans — 
a great big bag of dried ones.” 

‘‘ Wouldn’t it be nice,” suggested Bettie, to 
surprise Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane with baked 
beans for supper ! ” 

‘‘ But they’d see us cooking them,” objected. 
Jean. 

‘‘We could build a stone oven, the way Dave 
showed us, on the beach,” said practical Bettie. 
“Of course, if we used the tin one here in 
the clearing, they’d see what we were doing. 
Marjory, you’re so small they won’t notice 
you, so you slip into the provision tent and 
get the beans. How many? Why — I don’t 
know.” 

“ Seven hundred,” said Henrietta, promptly. 
“A hundred apiece — Anthony prefers fish- 
tails.” 

“ I guess,” protested Marjory, “ I’m not go- 
ing to count those beans — they come in pounds, 
not dozens.” 

“ They swell a lot,” said Bettie. “ I think 
that about four cupfuls would be enough — 


156 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

bring them down in one of those round pud- 
ding pans — we’ll bake ’em in that.” 

‘‘ It seems to me,” said Jean, when Marjory 
had successfully captured the beans, that we 
ought to wash them. But we haven’t any 
colander — one of those things with holes in 
it.” 

Never mind,” said Henrietta, ‘‘ we’ll use 
the lake — it’s big enough, anyway. I’ll wade 

in with the beans ” 

‘‘ I guess not,” retorted Mabel. Your feet 
and beans all in together ! ” 

“ That’s so,” agreed Henrietta. “ Well, 
we’ll dig out a basin in the hard clean sand 
and wash them in that.” 

The basin grew larger than the girls meant 
to make it, and the slippery white beans, turned 
loose in this little pond, proved remarkably 
elusive. But finally the last one was captured 
and placed in a pan of water with a pinch of 
salt; the pan was placed in the oven that the 
girls had built, and a fire was started under it. 

‘‘They’ll be surprised, won’t they?” gig- 
gled the happy conspirators, far from suspect- 


Doctor Dave 157 

ing that they themselves were to be the sur- 
prised persons; for this was their first ex- 
perience with cooking dried beans, and of 
course, since they couldn’t consult Mrs. Crane 
without betraying the secret, there was no one 
to ask for very necessary instructions. 


CHAPTER XVI 


B IDaluable ITnscct 

l\/r RS. CRANE remained very near her 
sleeping charge all that day. She didn’t 
see, she said, how anybody could survive the 
dreadful dose that Dave had poured down the 
unconscious lad’s throat. 

At four that afternoon one of Dave’s pre- 
dictions came true. Great beads of perspira- 
tion broke out on the boy’s forehead ; and soon 
the voluminous nightgown in which Mrs. 
Crane had arrayed the patient was wet through, 
for he was indeed ‘‘ sweating like a horse.” 

Remembering Dave’s advice concerning 
broth, yet decidedly fearful of following ad- 
vice from so doubtful a source, the anxious 
nurse searched her cupboard for the little jar 
of beef extract that had been ordered for Bettie 
(by this time Bettie was clamoring for — and 
getting — more substantial food) and made a 
small bowlful of strong bouillon. But first, 

158 




A Valuable Insect 

159 


careful Mrs. Crane wrapped her patient in a 
warm blanket. 

When she returned with the broth, intend- 
ing to force it by spoonfuls into the lad’s 
mouth, she realised that a great change had 
taken place in her patient. The fever flush 
was gone from his cheeks, leaving him pale 
and clammy; but now, for the first time since 
his arrival in Pete’s Patch his eyes were open. 
They were big and very, very blue. 

‘‘ Well,” greeted Mrs. Crane, ‘‘ this is some- 
thing like! Awake, are you? Don’t be fright- 
ened, poor lamb — you’re as safe here as if you 
were in your own bed. Open your mouth, 
there’s a good boy. It’s some time since you’ve 
had a Christian meal.” 

After the first few spoonfuls, the boy’s eyes 
closed wearily; but he still opened his mouth 
obediently, just like a young robin, his pleased 
nurse said afterwards. 

That’s all,” announced Mrs. Crane, giving 
him the last spoonful. ‘‘ Now go to sleep if 
you want to.” 

Apparently he did want to, for that is what 


i6o The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

he did. Mrs. Crane stole softly from the tent. 

“ Girls,” said she, to the little group in the 
shade of the biggest tree, “ I want you to be 
very quiet whenever you come near the tents 
— tell the others when they come back. I be- 
lieve that boy has taken a change for the better 
— he’s lost his fever and he’s sleeping like a 
baby.” 

“ Was it Dave’s awful medicine ? ” queried 
Bettie. 

‘‘ I don’t know,” returned Mrs. Crane. 

Your bottle probably helped. I don’t sup- 
pose we’ll ever know just what effect Dave’s 
potion had; but something has certainly 
brought about a change in that poor child. 
Anyway, remember not to make a noise near 
my tent.” 

“My!” giggled Marjory, when Mrs. Crane 
had returned to her charge, “ she never even 
looked toward the beach. I was so afraid she’d 
notice the smoke from that fire and ask what 
Jean and Mabel were doing.” 

“ So was I,” said Henrietta, who was en- 
deavoring to weave a basket from some long. 




A Valuable Insect 

i6i 


fragrant grass that she had discovered in a 
marsh near the river, “ but she doesn’t think 
of anything but that boy.” 

“ What’s Mr. Black doing all this time ? ” 
asked Bettie, who was lying at full length on 
the ground with her head in Marjory’s lap. 

‘‘ Fishing with his two and a half worms,” 
replied Henrietta. 

‘‘ There he comes now,” said Marjory, “ but 
what in the world ails him?” 

No wonder she asked, for stout Mr. Black, 
hatless and coatless, his thick, iron-gray hair 
standing upright, his oft-mended suspenders 
broken once more and dangling from his waist, 
was dashing madly about the further end of 
the clearing. Now with arms aloft, now with 
fingers gripping the sod, this usually sedate and 
dignified gentleman was behaving in a most 
remarkable manner. 

‘‘ Goodness ! ” gasped Henrietta. ‘‘ He must 
be doing an Indian war-dance ! ” 

‘‘ He’s pounding the ground with his hat,” 
said Marjory. 

Now he’s trying to fly — mercy ! He’s 


1 62 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

tripped right over a stump ! ” exclaimed Hen- 
rietta. Let’s go and see what he’s doing.” 

Just then Jean and Mabel clambered up the 
bank from the beach. On seeing the others 
fleeing hurriedly in Mr. Black’s direction, they, 
too, scurried after. 

“ He got away,” panted Mr. Black, ruefully, 
as he picked himself up from the grass plot. 

“ What? ” inquired Marjory, “ a squirrel? a 
rabbit? a beaver? ” 

No,” returned Mr. Black, rather sheep- 
ishly, wiping his perspiring brow, ‘‘ a grass- 
hopper. But I must have that beast. Girls, 
I’ll give you a dollar apiece for every grass- 
hopper you can catch within the next ten min- 
utes. You see, I accidentally caught one — the 
thing was down my neck — ^put it on my hook, 
and in two seconds it was snatched off by 
the biggest trout I’ve seen in six years! Yes, 
siree! He was a yard long! I’d pay two 
dollars for another grasshopper this minute; 
for I can’t catch the pesky things.” 

Easy money,” laughed Henrietta. ‘‘ Come 
on, girls. Let’s see who’ll get the two dollars.” 




A Valuable Insect 

163 


In another moment all five were hurling 
themselves recklessly about the sunny clearing, 
wherever a grasshopper jumped. To an unen- 
lightened observer, it must have seemed as if 
they, too, were doing an Indian war-dance; 
certainly they alarmed the grasshoppers. 

Oh,'' gasped Bettie, after five minutes of 
this strenuous exercise, “ I can’t try any longer 
— my poor old legs are all gone.” 

So tired Bettie nestled comfortably against 
Mr. Black, who, with his broad back against 
a stump, was resting as peacefully as the 
thought of that big, uncaught trout would per- 
mit. But the other four still chased grass- 
hoppers. 

Suddenly, a big, bewildered insect hopped 
right into Bettie’s lap; and, in a moment. Bet- 
tie's quick, slender fingers had closed over as 
fine a grasshopper as fisherman would wish 
to see. 

I’ve got him — I've got him ! ” she shrieked. 
‘‘ He’s right in my hand.” 

Mr. Black placed the captive in his pocket 
match-safe. Then gravely extracting a two- 


164 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

dollar bill from his trousers pocket, he dropped 
it in Bettie’s lap. 

Oh, no” breathed Bettie. “ Not when 
you’re so good to me — Fd catch a million 
grasshoppers for you for nothing, if I only 
could.” 

‘‘If you don’t keep it,” declared Mr. Black, 
closing her fingers over the bill, “ I’ll let that 
precious insect fly away.” 

“ Well,” sighed Bettie, stuffing the money 
down her neck, “ I’ll sit here with my mouth 
open and let grasshoppers fly in until I catch 
a truly two dollars’ worth.” 

“ Well,” laughed Mr. Black, rising with dif- 
ficulty, “ bring all you catch down that left- 
hand trail to the second bend in the river — 
that’s where I saw that whale.” 

But there was no need of a second grass- 
hopper; for before another was captured, Mr. 
Black, beaming with pleasure, rushed to the 
clearing to display his trout. Although the 
big fish lacked almost two feet of being a 
yard long, he was a fine specimen. 

“ And Bettie’s grasshopper,” said Mr. Black, 




A Valuable Insect 

165 


readjusting it on his hook, “ is still as good as 
new, so Fm going back for another fish — with 
one more, plus the three I caught this morn- 
ing, we’ll have enough for supper.” 

My goodness ! ” gasped Jean. “ Our sur- 
prise — nobody’s watching the fire ! ” 

With one accord, the five cooks rushed to 
the beach. 

The fire’s out,” said Jean. “ We’ll have 
to build it again.” 

When all the rest of the supper was on the 
table, including Mr. Black’s satisfactory catch 
of trout, nicely fried by Jean, Marjory slipped 
quietly away to extract the surprise from the 
oven. She was not entirely satisfied with its 
appearance ; but, at any rate, the dish was good 
and hot. She succeeded in getting it safely 
up the sand bank and into the octagonal tent, 
where she placed it triumphantly beside the 
trout. 

“Why!” exclaimed Mrs. Crane, whose pa- 
tient was still sleeping, “ what have we here ? ” 

“ A surprise,” beamed Mabel. 

“ Boston baked beans,” explained Bettie. 


1 66 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ Now, that,” said Mr. Black, ‘‘ is a real 
treat. There’s nothing better than beans for 
camp fare.” 

But when the beans were served they rat- 
tled, as they touched the plates, like rain on 
a tin roof. Instead of being smooth and nicely 
filled out, each bean was shriveled and as hard 
as a pebble. 

“ Dear me,” mourned Bettie, who had taken 
the first mouthful, “ those are dreadful beans 
— I can’t bite them.” 

“ But,” said puzzled Jean, they cooked for 
hours.” 

'‘Did you soak them first?” asked Mrs. 
Crane. 

“ No,” replied Jean. 

“ Didn’t you boil them ? ” 

“ No, we didn’t do that, either. Just baked 
’em.” 

“ Dear, dear,” laughed Mrs. Crane. “ No 
wonder they’re hard. You should have soaked 
them all night, boiled them for an hour, and 
then baked them. And I think, my dears, that 
you forgot the pork, the molasses, and the 


" 

A Valuable Insect 

167 

salt — beans need a great deal of salt. 

But it 


was nice and thoughtful of you good little 
girls to go to all that trouble.” 

“We wanted it to be a lovely surprise,” 
mourned Mabel. 

“ Well,” teased Mr. Black, “ it’s certainly 
more of a surprise than you meant it to be, 
therefore more of a success, because we are all 
surprised.” 

“ Cheer up,” said Mrs. Crane, touched by the 
downcast countenances of the disappointed 
cooks. “ We’ll feed the surprise to the squir- 
rels. After supper — ^you see there’s plenty 
this time without the surprise — we’ll put some 
more beans to soak ; and to-morrow we’ll cook 
them the other way. Anyway, I’m very glad 
you thought of cooking those beans — I’d for- 
gotten that we had them.” 

At this the seven gloomy faces brightened. 
And the beans were not wasted; for the kind 
squirrels carried away every one. 


CHAPTER XVII 


XLbe Game TPSlarDen’d 

boy was really better; but very, very 
weak. Every time he opened an eye, that 
next day, solicitous Mrs. Crane was ready with 
a bowl of broth. Once he did not fall asleep 
immediately but followed her with big, ques- 
tioning blue eyes as she moved about the tent. 
He remained awake for twenty minutes that 
time and even moved his hands slightly. 

“YouVe been real sick,” explained Mrs. 
Crane, sociably, her soft dark eyes very kind 
and encouraging. You’re pretty weak yet, 
but you’re twice the boy you were yesterday. 
Could you eat more broth?”. 

For an instant something that looked like 
a genuine smile flickered across the boy’s lips; 
and his eyes, Mrs. Crane said afterwards, al- 
most twinkled. Then, in a very thin, weak 
voice, he said : ‘‘ Please.” 

After that he again fell into a long, deep 
sleep. But now his prolonged slumbers were 

i68 


The Game Warden’s Visit 169 

no longer terrifying, for his breathing was 
natural, his fever entirely gone. 

Can^t we see him next time his eyes are 
open ? pleaded Mabel, waylaying Mrs. Crane 
in the provision tent, “ and couldn't I be the 
first one? I found him, you know, so he’s 
really mostly mine.” 

Ye — es,” replied Mrs. Crane, pondering 
this matter. I guess it’s only fair that you 
should be the first. If you’ll stay where you 
can see the door of my tent. I’ll wave a towel 
when the time comes. But it won’t be right 
away, for he’s just gone to sleep again.” 

“ That boat ought to get here to-day,” said 
Mr. Black, who had been expectantly gazing 
from time to time at the lake, but I suppose 
that rascal Dave stopped all along the way to 
set traps.” 

Mr. Black was quite right. Dave had 
stopped to set traps. But first of all, with 
characteristic stealth, the conscienceless half- 
breed had begun his journey with a comforta- 
ble nap. For almost two hours, within five 
minutes’ walk of Pete’s Patch, Dave had 


170 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

slumbered, with no thought of anything but 
his own comfort. After that, he attended lei- 
surely to the numerous traps along his almost 
invisible trail. Fortunately — or he might 
never have reached his destination, he found 
only a solitary muskrat. The big rat was still 
living. Dave eyed him reflectively. 

Goo’-by, li’le son,'^ said Dave, liberating the 
bright-eyed prisoner. ‘‘You ees more bodder 
dan you ees wort', to-day. An’ w’at for Ah’m 
eat moskrat! Me, Ah’m go for eat dose bif- 
steak, dose pork shop, dose baked bean hon 
top of Lakeveele. Go home, you son of a 
moskrat — Ah catch you som’ more nex’ veek.” 

The limping rat splashed into the river, and 
Dave, after one half-regretful glance at the 
eddying water, at last started briskly along the 
trail that led to Lakeville. 

He spent the night with his cousin on the 
outskirts of the town, who refreshed him so 
generously that faithless Dave didn’t know, 
next morning, whether he was headed toward 
Lakeville or toward camp. So he slept all that 
day and the next ; while his good friend Mabel, 


The Game Warden’s Visit 171 

at Pete’s Patch, made brave efforts to save him 
from threatened disaster. 

Mabel and all the other girls knew that 
Dave had every reason to fear the game war- 
den. The youthful castaways, who were not 
very clear as to the duties of game wardens in 
general, considered them the natural enemies 
of all hunters and fishermen. Dave had once 
shown the girls a battered, yellowed newspa- 
per containing a full-length picture of a 
brawny, khaki-clad game warden arresting a 
lawless sportsman. The half-breeed had said, 
half laughingly, half seriously: 

‘‘Eef you ees see dose man som’ tarn’, Mees 
Mabelle, Mees Bet^^^, don’t you go for tole 
her som’t’ing about Dave Gurneau, or maybe, 
me, Ah’m got maself lock up for sure. Or 
maybe Ah’m go for pay feefty dollar fine.” 

The idea of a fifty-dollar fine had probably 
tickled Dave, who, at that poverty-stricken mo- 
ment would have found it impossible to pay 
even fifty cents. 

But the girls had been deeply impressed. 
They saw clearly that a visit from the game 


lyz The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

warden would result disastrously to Dave, 
whom the youngsters liked, in spite of his 
many irregularities; for the ignorant half- 
breed was always good to them in his own 
peculiar way. And then, too, Mr. Black had 
said that Dave was to be protected from all 
chance visitors. 

Very soon after the arrival of the nails, Mr. 
Black had built a rain-proof shed to shelter 
the disabled “ Whale.” As it was possible 
to reach this spot without tumbling into either 
the lake or the river, Mabel often strolled that 
way to look for berries, flowers, mushrooms, 
or mosses — she was apt to return with speci- 
mens of all four jumbled untidily together in 
the skirt of her dress. 

This fine morning, Mrs. Crane having sug- 
gested that a few mushrooms would add flavor 
and bulk to the noon meal, Mabel and Henri- 
etta, with the praiseworthy intention of gath- 
ering a bushel or two, walked along the 
swampy, woodsy road that led to Lakeville. 

It was not often that Mabel and Henrietta 
paired off together, for Henrietta was the 


The Game Warden’s Visit 173 

oldest, Mabel the youngest of the five girls. 
But in some ways pretty, black-eyed Henrietta 
was more thoughtless, less responsible than 
Jean, Marjory, or Bettie. After the death of 
her young mother, various relatives, including 
an inexperienced father and a too-indulgent 
grandmother, had done their best to spoil at- 
tractive Henrietta. They hadn’t exactly suc- 
ceeded; but the unrestrained little girl, nat- 
urally impulsive, naturally a bit daring, and 
always very high-spirited, was apt to act first 
and do her thinking afterwards. As for Mabel 
— why, Mabel simply plunged into trouble. 
Still, it seemed safe enough to send this pair 
forth for mushrooms; so, with a basket be- 
tween them, a smiling sky overhead, they set 
forth merrily. 

‘‘It’s funny about mushrooms,” observed 
Mabel. “ You can gather all there are and 
the next day you find just as many more. But 
when you pick berries that’s the last of them 
for a whole year.” 

“ I wish,” returned Henrietta, “ it were just 
the other way.” 


174 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ So do I/’ agreed Mabel, her mouth full of 
big, red wintergreen berries. 

“It never is,’’ sighed Henrietta, sentiment- 
ally. “ Every time there’s a storm, the sea 
brings in millions of cobblestones and only one 
agate. I love to hunt for agates.” 

“ If they came in like cobblestones,” said 
practical Mabel, “you wouldn’t have the fun 

of hunting Why! There’s something 

coming down the road. See ! That way — to- 
ward Lakeville.” 

“ A man on horseback I ” exclaimed Henri- 
etta. “Let’s hide ” 

“What for?” demanded Mabel, bravely. 

“ His clothes I ” breathed Henrietta, in an 
agonized whisper, as she dragged Mabel back- 
ward. “Can’t you see? It’s the game war- 
den — I know him by his leggings. Just like 
that picture. Hurry, Mabel — he’s after 
Dave!” 

“ Oh ! do you think so ? ” gasped Mabel, 
paralyzed with horror. “ And all that venison 
hanging near Dave’s wigwam ! And all those 
partridge feathers on Mr. Black’s land ! They 


The Game Warden’s Visit 175 

might arrest him, too ! And us ! Oh, Henri- 
etta! What’ll we do ? ” 

“ Run,” urged Henrietta, tugging at Mabel’s 
dress. 

“ But — but I -can’t I ” gasped Mabel, help- 
lessly. “ And, anyway, it’s too late — he’s look- 
ing right this way. But, oh ! We mustn’t let 
him go anywhere near Pete’s Patch.” 

“Sh!” breathed Henrietta, warningly; but 
with a quick, decisive nod that seemed vaguely 
reassuring. “ Stop looking scared.” 

The rider, having cautiously and more or 
less successfully skirted a bad bit of swamp, 
caught sight of the girls and checked his travel- 
stained horse. 

‘‘ Is this the way,” he asked, politely, to 
Barclay’s Point ? ” 

Henrietta’s forefinger promptly pointed to- 
ward the north — directly toward the concealed 
Point. 

Just keep going,” she advised. “ It’s 
quite a long way, but you’re headed right for 
Barclay’s.” 

“ Yes,” assisted Mabel, after a closer scru- 


176 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

tiny of the telltale leggings, you just keep 
going.’^ 

Fm looking,^’ explained the man, for Mr. 
Black. He’s at Barclay’s Point, isn’t he ? ” 

‘‘ Sometimes,” replied Henrietta, truthfully. 
“ How’s the fishing up there ? ” 

“ I haven’t fished,” returned Henrietta, 
shortly. The game warden, it was plain, would 
get no incriminating information from Hen- 
rietta. 

^‘This road, you say, leads to the Point?” 

‘‘Ye — es,” faltered Mabel; “yes, if ” 

“ Never mind the ‘ if,’ ” hissed Henrietta, 
into Mabel’s surprised ear. “ Yes,” she added 
aloud, and very convincingly, “ it does lead to 
the Point. But you’d better hurry, or Mr. Black 
may be starting out for some other place.” 

“ Fd hate to miss him,” said the man, touch- 
ing his hat. “ Thank you, young ladies. Fll 
go at once — perhaps Fll see you later.” 

Mabel and Henrietta eyed each other in dis- 
creet silence until the sound of hoof beats had 
gradually died away. 

“ We’ve been bad,” breathed Mabel. 


The Game Warden’s Visit 177 

It was necessary/' sighed Henrietta. 
‘‘ Goodness knows, I’d rather be good. And 
that road does lead to Barclay’s Point.” 

‘‘ Yes — if you’re smart enough to find the 
turn off.” 

“ That’s why I told him to hurry — if he 
rides fast, he’ll never see it.” 

Nobody would,” agreed Mabel. Where 
does this road go, anyway?” 

‘‘ Seventeen miles to an old lumber camp — 
Dave told me. There’s another camp, not so 
far, but it has a ' blind turn-off ’ — ^you’d never 
find it if you didn’t know just exactly where to 
look. Even then you’d think you were wrong. 
I guess it’ll take him all day to find Pete’s 
Patch. Anyhow, I hope so.” 

“ Shall we tell the others ? ” 

N — no,” decided Henrietta, contempla- 
tively. By the time he’s reached the end of 
that swampy road without coming to anything 
he’ll be too tired and discouraged to want to 
arrest anybody. He’ll just make tracks for 
home. But when Dave comes we’ll tell him to 
hide his venison.” 


178 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

‘‘ And/' said Mabel, not knowing the depths 
of Dave's depravity, “ he’ll surely be here soon 
— he’ll hurry right back with my father." 

‘‘ Why, that's so," laughed Henrietta. 
‘‘ Your father is coming. Well, he won't know 
you — he'll think you're some relative of 
Dave's, and prescribe soap. But let’s get those 
mushrooms. If that man comes back he 
mustn't find us here — he might ask questions 
we couldn't answer. And I think we’d better 
roll a log across the turn-off to Pete’s Patch 
and throw a little old brush against it so it 
won’t show." 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Zbc IRamc 

A'^ hour later, with a splendid lot of glisten- 
ing mushrooms, Mabel and Henrietta re- 
turned to camp. As they neared the clearing, 
Mrs. Crane could be seen in the doorway of 
her tent, frantically waving a large towel. 

“ Oh/’ cried Mabel, quickening her pace, 
“ the boy’s awake ! She wants me — I’m to be 
first — I’m to be ” 

“If you plunge in that way,” admonished 
Henrietta, running lightly beside Mabel, 
“ you’ll scare him to death. Do stop long 
enough to wash your face — he’ll think you’re a 
murderous young squaw coming with another 
dose of Dave’s medicine.” 

Five minutes later, when Mabel, very red 
and very shining from a hasty application of 
laundry soap and cold water, looked in at the 
tent door, a pair of big, bright blue eyes smiled 
at her from the low, balsam bed. 

“ Hello ! ” said the boy, “ are you the kid 


179 


i8o The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

they call Mabel ? They tell me you picked me 
up on the beach, along with some driftwood, 
when I was drowned.” 

‘‘ Yes,” admitted Mabel, bashfully. ‘‘ And I 
guess you were drowned, too — almost. Pm 
glad you’ve come to, at last. When are you 
going to get up ? ” 

I tried to just now, but my head’s made 
of lead — it won’t come up.” 

I guess your neck’s weak — Bettie’s was. 
What’s your name ? ” 

The laughter and the light suddenly faded 
from the boy’s eyes. 

‘‘ I don’t know,” said the boy, blankly. I 
— it’s queer, isn’t it.? That lady with the broth 
asked me once before, I think ” 

“ I asked you yesterday,” corroborated Mrs. 
Crane. “ But don’t worry, my dear. You’ve 
been very ill and your mind is as weak as your 
body, no doubt. They’ll both be stronger in 
a few days. All you need to remember is that 
we are your friends.” 

^‘And your real name doesn’t matter, any- 
way,” added Mabel, noting the troubled ex- 


The Boy’s Name i8i 

pression that still clouded the boy’s counte- 
nance. “ I’m going to call you Billy Blue-eyes 

— I used to know a goat ” 

The boy’s expressive face suddenly bright- 
ened, the blue eyes actually twinkled with fun. 

“ The very thing,” cried Mrs. Crane. 
‘‘ We’ll call him Billy Blue-eyes. I told him 
this morning that, when he came out of the 
lake, he must have brought some of the color 
with him. His eyes are certainly blue. Shall 
we call you Billy? ” 

Sounds all right to me,” agreed the boy; 
but — but I hope I wasn’t that goat.” 

“ You weren’t,” assured Mabel, earnestly. 
‘'I liked him, but he butted so many people 
that Grandma Pike — he belonged to her — had 
to have him chloroformed and stuffed. The 
stuffed-animal man wanted him. They didn’t 
have any real glass goat eyes to put in him so 
they used blue glass marbles. But how did 
you get in the lake — or out of it, Mr. Billy?” 
Again the boy looked troubled. 

I don’t know,” said he, after a long pause. 
‘‘ Don’t ask any more questions,” warned 


1 82 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Mrs. Crane. “ There’ll be plenty of time for 
that later. Mr. Black sent a notice to the 
Lakeville paper, by Dave, so his folks’ll know 
he’s alive — we described him as well as we 
could. I even measured him with my tape- 
measure. He isn’t as wide as he ought to be 
for his length, poor lamb.” 

“ He’ll get fat on camp fare,” promised Ma- 
bel. Look at me ! ” 

Billy Blue-eyes looked and the troubled ex- 
pression gave way to one of amusement. 

Phew ! ” said he, I’d better not be fed so 
often — I guess I’ll wait awhile for that broth 
— I’ve only one suit of clothes, the broth lady 
says. If I outgrow that ” 

“ You can borrow mine,” laughed Mabel. 

My gray sweater would fit you splendidly.” 

“ He’ll need it, too,” said Mrs. Crane, 
“ when he sits up to-morrow. That is, I think 
I’ll let him sit up to-morrow — he hasn’t had 
a scrap of fever for quite awhile.” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested Mabel, Dave’s medi- 
cine really did cure him. Did you taste it, 
Billy?” 


The Boy’s Name 183 

Once,” said Billy, “ but I don’t know 
when, I drank something like red-hot coals, 
flavored with tobacco and vinegar and/ink — 
was that it ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” laughed Mabel, that must have 
been it.” 

“ There^s a queer taste in my mouth yet,” 
declared the boy. It’s all puckered up — like 
choke-cherries.” 

‘‘ I guess you’d better run along, Mabel,” 
advised Mrs. Crane, noting that the boy’s eyes, 
in spite of his best efforts, were closing wearily. 
“ He doesn’t stay awake very long at a time.” 

Good-by,” said Mabel, cheerfully. 

“ Come again,” breathed the boy, sleepily. 

Of course Mabel felt very important indeed 
when the other youthful castaways, waiting 
impatiently just outside the tent, seized her 
and wanted to know all about it. 

“ He’s awfully thin,” said Mabel, conde- 
scending finally to answer some of the eager 
little girls’ questions. “ And his eyes are per- 
fectly huge and sort of twinkly. And blue; 
yes, bluer than Marjory’s. I think we’re going 


184 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

to like him; but he can’t remember his own 
name.” 

“ Can’t remember his own name ! ” ex- 
claimed Henrietta. “ Perhaps he doesn’t want 
to. Perhaps he’s an escaped convict trying to 
hide from the police. Perhaps he’s a bur- 
glar ” 

“ He isn’t either,” snorted Mabel, indig- 
nantly. Do you s’pose I’d rescue anybody 
like that? Besides, you can tell. He wants 
to remember and can’t.” 

“ But what,” demanded sympathetic Bettie, 
will that poor child do for a name ? Are 
we to call him ‘ that boy ’ forever ? And shout 
‘ Say, Boy ’ when we want him ? ” 

“ Of course not,” said Henrietta, promptly. 
“ We’ll name him ourselves. Vincent de Man- 
ville Holmes would be nice — or Neptune some- 
thing, because he came out of the sea.” 

That was Venus,” corrected Jean. 

Oh, well,” amended Henrietta, cheerfully, 
Ulysses might be better. Still, I always did 
like Reginald. Or Percival — Percival Orlando 
de Courcy.” 




The Boy’s Name 

185 


‘‘ You go home/' blurted indignant Mabel, 
no longer able to listen in triumphant silence. 
‘‘ His name's Billy. He’s my boy and I named 
him ; and that’s enough." 

‘‘What?" demanded Marjory. “Just 
Billy?" 

“ Billy Blue-eyes." 

“ My ! " teased Marjory. “ Just like a paper 
doll!" 

“ Never mind," soothed tactful Jean, “ I 
think Billy's a beautiful name." 

“ For a goat,” scoffed Henrietta. 

There's no knowing what would have hap- 
pened if Mr. Black, gently shooing a strange 
object before him, had not appeared just then, 
from the woods back of the clearing. 

“ Hi there, girls,” he shouted, “ I’m bring- 
ing you a pet I " 

At that the girls, all differences forgotten, 
raced toward Mr. Black. 

“ Stop! Stop! " he shouted. “You’ll scare 
him away. Stand where you are. That's 
right. Now, Marjory, you run for the clothes- 
line — we’ll try to get a noose about his neck." 


1 86 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

‘‘ Goodness ! ” gasped Henrietta, backing 
away as the pet waddled toward her; “what 
is it? It looks just like a bad dream.” 

“ I know,” laughed Jean. “ It’s a porcu- 
pine. Just see how his quills stick out — 
Mercy ! Look out, Bettie ! ” 

“ Ouch ! ” squealed short-skirted Bettie, as 
the clumsy beast hurtled past her. “ My legs ! ” 

“ Why ! ” cried Mabel, “ there’s quills in 
your stockings ! ” 

“ In me, too,” giggled Bettie. “ I guess no- 
body’ll pet that pet very much.” 

“ Perhaps we don’t want him,” said Mr. 
Black, rather apologetically; “ but I thought 
you might enjoy studying a porcupine at close 
quarters.” 

“ Not too close,” laughed Bettie, rubbing her 
shin. 

“ They’re easily tamed,” said Mr. Black, 
“ and they’ll eat most anything. I found this 
one on the river bank. He seemed willing 
enough to run, but it took quite a while to get 
him going in the right direction.” 

Mr. Black succeeded presently in getting a 




The Boy’s Name 

187 


noose fastened about the porcupine’s neck. 
Then, because there happened to be a con- 
venient tree at that point, the other end of the 
rope was made fast to a sturdy maple near 
the path that led to the beach. 

‘‘ We’ll name him Percival Orlando de 
Courcy,” declared Henrietta. 

“No,” said Mr. Black, “this is Terrible 
Tim, the watchdog. Stationed at this point, 
he’ll keep all intruders at bay.” 

Terrible Tim, however, looked the mildest 
of beasts by this time, for with quills low- 
ered, he was cowering bashfully among the 
shrubbery. 


CHAPTER XIX 


B :©elateD ^Traveler 

^^^BRILLIANT moon had aided Dave in 
the latter portion of his journey to Lake- 
ville. The following night, a similarly il- 
lumined sky was of great assistance to another 
solitary wayfarer, for the man in leather leg- 
gings, misdirected that morning by Mabel and 
Henrietta, was laboriously making his way 
back toward Pete’s Patch. Before he had 
quite reached the end of the unspeakable road 
over which the girls had sent him, he had met 
a camping fisherman who had given him ex- 
plicit directions for finding Mr. Black’s land. 

At ten o’clock that night, having at last 
reached Barclay’s Point, he urged his patient 
horse along the beach until he came to the 
embers of a dying camp fire, and noted, on 
the bank above, a number of white tents gleam- 
ing like ghosts in the moonlight. Tying his 
weary steed to a convenient log, the man, very 
stiff and sore from his long ride, clambered 

i88 




A Belated Traveler 

189 


up the sand bank, only to fall prone at the 
top over a strange and most alarmingly prickly 
object that stood directly in his path. 

Rising with considerable difficulty and sep- 
arating himself as speedily as possible from 
Terrible Tim, who was emitting queer, fright- 
ened grunts, the surprised traveler moved cau- 
tiously along the path, shouting, in a voice 
that quavered persistently in spite of his manly 
efforts to control it: 

“Mr. Black! Oh, Mr. Bla— ack ! 

Mr. Black, only half awake, sat up to listen. 
The call came again. 

“ Oh, Mr. Bla-a-a-ack!’^ 

The owner of the name, wrapped in a blan- 
ket, thrust an inquiring head from the door- 
way of his tent. 

“ What’s all the row about ? ” he demanded. 

“ Oo I ” groaned Henrietta, who had wa- 
kened at the first call, “ it’s that game warden I 
He’ll never spare us now!' 

Keen-eared Marjory, too, was sitting up to 
listen; and, at Mr. Black’s reply, Jean and 
Bettie opened their eyes. 


190 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“Wake up/' commanded Henrietta, in a 
terrifying whisper, as she pummeled Mabel 
mercilessly. “ Wake up, wake up — ^the game 
warden’s here.” 

The response to this was so surprising that 
Henrietta, whose teeth were already chatter- 
ing with fright, almost tumbled over. 

“ Who — oop ! ” shouted Mabel, doubling up 
her sturdy fists and hitting out, first with 
one, then another. “ Who — oop ! Who — oop ! 
Who— oop!” 

“ Mabel ! For goodness’ sake, what do you 
think you’re doing! ” gasped Henrietta. “ Oh, 
my poor chin ! ” 

“ Mabel ! Stop pounding my ribs ! ” shrieked 
Bettie. “ You can’t sleep next to me again.” 

“ I — I killed him,” breathed Mabel, subsid- 
ing with a deep, satisfied sigh. “ Oh, is it 
breakfast time? ” 

“ What did you kill ? ” demanded Henrietta, 
rubbing her chin. 

“ The father-bear — Bettie was running away 
with his cubs. What’s the matter with every- 
body? ” 




A Belated Traveler 

191 


‘‘ The game warden/' whispered Henrietta. 
‘‘ He’s outside with Mr. Black — arresting him, 
I guess. But listen — they’re talking.” 

“What!” Mr. Black was exclaiming, ex- 
citedly. “Two girls? Two of my girls sent 
you — why, Saunders! You must be dream- 
ing!” 

“ Saunders ! ” gasped Henrietta. 

“ Saunders ! ” echoed Mabel. “ Why ! 
Saunders is the man in Mr. Black’s office. I’ve 
never seen him, but I’ve heard a lot about 
him.” 

“ Girls ! ” called Mr. Black, “ are you 
awake ? ” 

“ Yes,” shrieked all five. 

“ Here’s a hungry man. Could one of you 
roll up in a blanket and find him something 
to eat ? ” 

“ Sure ! ” shrieked all five. 

Then, of course, there followed a lively 
scramble for shoes and blankets and, in an- 
other moment, the five girls, looking like so 
many disheveled little squaws, were out in the 
moonlight. 


192 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

^‘There’s some cold johnny-cake/’ said Jean, 
rather doubtfully, and some mushroom soup 
that I could warm up.” 

And beans,” added Marjory, stalking after 
her towards the camp cupboard. ‘‘ I’ll get 
the dishes.” 

“Girls,” said Mr. Black, “this is Mr. 
Saunders — Mr. William Saunders — of Lake- 
ville. Saunders, which of these young women 
did you see this morning ? ” 

“ Well, really,” stammered the visitor, glanc- 
ing from one to another of the blanketed 
maidens, “ I couldn’t say.” 

“ Mabel and me,” mumbled Henrietta, half- 
heartedly. 

“ And you sent him ” 

“We thought,” explained Mabel, balancing 
unsteadily on the only foot for which she had 
been able to find a shoe, “ that he was the 
game warden.” 

“ Game warden ! ” gasped Mr. Black. “ Do 
you mean to say that you meant to send him 
seventeen miles from Barclay’s?” 

The guilty little girls accomplished the dif- 




A Belated Traveler 

193 


ficult feat of nodding and hanging their heads 
at the same time. 


In all that mud ! ” groaned Saunders, 
and on that awful saddle! 

“We,” faltered Henrietta, whose red blan- 
ket was most becoming to her sparkling bru- 
nette countenance, “ we didn’t want the game 
warden to find out about Dave.” 

“ Good gracious I ” exclaimed Mr. Black. 
“ That reminds me. Dave is in Lakeville, 
Saunders is here — he brought up an important 
paper for me to sign. With Saunders gone, 
Dave won’t know what to do about the doctor. 
He may start back.” 

“Not if there’s anything drinkable left in 
Lakeville,” assured Saunders. “ I know 
mighty well where I’ll find him. But I can't go 
back to-night — I’m not accustomed to riding, 
and I’ve been on that poor old nag all day.” 

“ I’ll fix a bed for you in my tent,” said Mr. 
Black. “ There’s plenty of room.” 

“ I’m awfully sorry for what we did,” mum- 
bled Henrietta, contritely, “ but we did mistake 
you for that dreadful game warden.” 


194 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

That looks,” said Saunders, with mock' 
severity, ‘‘as if you'd been breaking the game 
laws.” 

“ It’s that rascal Dave,” explained Mr. 
Black. “ He has damaged them all ; but please 
don’t mention it in town.” 

Mr. Saunders was fed and escorted to bed; 
but before he had had time to unlace his shoes, 
there were wild shrieks from the girls’ tent. 
Mabel, the first to plunge in, had collided with 
a horribly prickly object that grunted like a 
frightened pig and scratched like a thousand 
needles. Then, as girl after girl rubbed against 
Terrible Tim, who had somehow escaped and 
was calmly eating their tallow candle, a chorus 
of shrieks rang forth. This outcry, of course, 
sent Mr. Black flying to the rescue. And 
Mrs. Crane, roused at last and puzzled by the 
presence of Mr. Saunders, joined the relief 
party. 

“It’s Terrible Tim!” shrieked Marjory. 
“ He’s in all our beds ! ” 

“ We’ll let him go,” declared Mr. Black. 
“ He’s too troublesome a pet.” 


A Belated Traveler 195 

“No, no, no!” shrieked the alarmed girls. 
“ He’ll get in here again.” 

“ And I’m sure,” said Mrs. Crane, “ that he 
isn’t wanted in my tent.” 

“ Well,” agreed Mr. Black, “ I guess it is 
wiser to tie him up than to attempt to chase 
him away — perhaps he’s forgotten the way 
home.” 

So Terrible Tim, cowering in a corner and 
quite as frightened as his victims, was fas- 
tened to his clothesline and driven to his tree. 
It was days, however, before the girls’ blankets 
were free from the irritating porcupine quills 
that Timothy had shed so generously. 

In the morning Mr. Saunders, still stiff and 
sore from his long ride, was safely started on 
his way to Lakeville; but, during his brief stay, 
he had made friends with all the girls and 
even conversed for a few moments with Billy 
Blue-eyes, who was greatly taken with the 
pleasant young man. 

“ You see,” explained Saunders, with a 
twinkle in his shrewd gray eye as he glanced 
toward Mabel and Henrietta, “ I want to make 


196 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

such a good impression that I’ll be recognized 
a mile away next time.” 

Well,” complained Mabel, you might 
have said you weren’t that game warden.” 

At that, lame as he was, Saunders threw 
back his head and roared. 

When Saunders, bountifully supplied with 
lists and instructions, had departed, Mrs.' Crane 
told the girls that Billy was clamoring for 
visitors. 

‘‘ I guess,” said she, ‘‘ we’ll let Jean and 
Bettie in first — they’re the quietest.” 

The boy was now visibly gaining in 
strength; also he seemed sufficiently cheerful 
and contented until Bettie, forgetting that she 
was not to trouble him with questions, asked if 
he lived in Lakeville. 

Where’s that ? ” queried the boy. 

‘‘ About fifteen miles from here,” returned 
Bettie. “ You could see it on a clear day if 
it wasn’t for Sugar Loaf and a lot of other 
scenery in the way.” 

‘‘ What’s Sugar Loaf — sounds like a candy 
shop?” 




A Belated Traveler 

197 


‘‘ A very high hill right on the edge of the 
lake. Lakeville is a town around several cor- 
ners in a little bay. Where did you come 
from? ” 

The boy's eyes clouded. I don’t know,” 
said he. When I wake up in the night I 
almost remember things — my bed, for instance, 
belongs over there — ^but there’s always a piece 
of everything gone. I — it bothers me. I guess 
you think I’m pretty queer.” 

** Don’t worry,” soothed Jean. You’re not 
strong yet. You’ll be all right when you’re 
well.” 

“Think so?” demanded Billy, brightening. 
“ Then I’ll eat all the broth Mrs. — some kind 
of a bird — brings me.” 

“ She’s making some now,” said Bettie, 
“ from a piece of Dave’s venison. We’ll have 
all sorts of good things to eat as soon as Mr. 
Saunders gets to town. He said he’d travel as 
fast as he coidd — I guess he’s pretty lame.” 

“ But,” groaned Jean, “ he can*t possibly get 
anything here before to-morrow and I’m just 
starved for pie.” 


198 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

** Pie ! ” laughed the boy. “ I’d like a piece 
myself. Why, when I lived in — in — — Now 
wouldn’t that make you tired! I can see a 
table with pie on it and a whole pitcher full 
of cream; but, if you offered me a thousand 
dollars I couldn’t tell you where to find that 
table! Pshaw! It makes me so mad when 
things float off like that that I want to — cry.” 

Whereupon Jean, noting that big tears 
blurred the blue eyes, began hastily to tell how 
Terrible Tim had devoured one of Mabel’s 
shoes, left carelessly within his reach; and 
presently the lad was again smiling. 


CHAPTER XX 


B Surprise ipartg 

following afternoon, all the casta- 
ways except Billy, who, however, was 
sitting up in bed, crouched in a row on 
the bank to watch two slowly approaching 
objects. 

“ Surely we never asked for two boat-loads 
of food,” remarked puzzled Bettie. 

Or medicine,” added Mrs. Crane. 

“ Or books,” said Jean. 

Or clothes,” supplemented Henrietta. 

“ Perhaps,” suggested Mr. Black, “ the other 
boat isn’t coming here.” 

‘‘ But is is,” asserted far-sighted Marjory. 

It’s headed right this way. And the bigger 
one is Captain Berry’s launch, I know.” 

Twenty minutes later the boat that was not 
Captain Berry’s dropped anchor in the little 
bay. 

It’s people ! ” Marjory exclaimed, as the 


199 


200 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

smaller launch swung about. It looks like a 
picnic.” 

“ Dear me,” said alarmed Mrs. Crane, “ I 
hope they’ve brought their own lunch — we 
couldn’t give them much. And I feel like hid- 
ing in the woods — we’re terribly in need of 
starch and flatirons.” 

“ They’re waving” cried Bettie. “ I do be- 
lieve they’re visitors for us. Oh, I guess they 
want a boat.” 

Mr. Black, who had hastened to the launch 
with one of the small boats, was first to recog- 
nize the passengers. Jean, who followed with 
the second boat (by this time all the girls had 
learned to row in the shallow, usually calm 
little bay), was second. 

Mercy!” exclaimed astonished Jean, al- 
most catching a crab, it’s most of our par- 
ents and Aunty Jane — I do hope they’re not 
going to take us home! ” 

Presently the visitors were safely landed. 
Doctor and Mrs. Bennett, Doctor and Mrs. 
Tucker, Mrs. Mapes, Henrietta’s grandmother, 
Mrs. Slater, and Marjory’s Aunty Jane. 


A Surprise Party 


201 


'‘Where’s that dreadful boy?” demanded 
Aunty Jane, the moment she was on shore. 
"Are you sure he hasn’t something catching? 
I haven’t known a moment’s peace since I 
knew that you’d sent for the doctor; for Mar- 
jory’s never had anything. Are you sure it 
isn’t smallpox? Those lumber camps up the 
lake ” 

" Dear me,” said Mrs. Crane, " didn’t we 
write that the boy was more than half 
drowned? I’m sure I said so.” 

" It was that Indian — that unspeakably 
filthy Indian,” returned Aunty Jane. " He 
said the boy had a fever. I went to the jail — 
to the jail, Mrs. Crane — to talk to that — that 
beast.” 

Who— Dave?” 

" I suppose so. From what little I could 
understand, I gathered that that boy had some 
malignant illness — typhoid, diphtheria, scarlet 
fever, smallpox ” 

" Mr. Black,” interposed Doctor Bennett, " I 
did all I could to keep these women home, but 
they would come.” 


202 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ I don’t blame them,” beamed Mr. Black, 
hospitably. They wanted to see their girls. 
We’re glad to see you all.” 

Aunty Jane, the neatest housekeeper in 
Lakeville, cast disapproving glances in every 
direction as Mr. Black led the way to the camp- 
ground. Everybody else was busy exclaiming 
over Bettie. 

“ Are you sure you are Bettie ? ” demanded 
Mrs. Tucker, with delighted eyes. ‘‘ Why, 
you’re fat — Doctor Bennett, she hasn’t been 
fat since she was three years old. And brown ! 
And look at the red in her cheeks! And her 
lips!” 

‘‘ I’ve certainly lost my patient,” laughed 
Doctor Bennett. But Mabel seems to be all 
here.” 

Just look at my long Jean’s brown arms,” 
cried pleased Mrs. Mapes, vainly endeavoring 
to span the rounded forearm. “ Bigger than 
mine ! ” 

‘‘ That’s muscle,” laughed Jean. “ Rowing 
and climbing trees are great for your muscle 
— but hard on your clothes.” 


A Surprise Party 


203 


“ Ugh ! ” shuddered Aunty Jane, sniffing dis- 
gustedly. How horrible everything smells ! 
Bacon, onions, fish — ^just like that filthy In- 
dian ! ” 

All camps smell camp-y,’’ explained Doc- 
tor Bennett. "" You'll smell camp-y after a day 
in the woods. But where’s that boy ? Until Fve 
seen him, these anxious mothers won’t be sat- 
isfied that he hasn’t something contagious.” 

Mrs. Mapes, Doctor and Mrs. Tucker, and 
the Bennetts were delighted with Pete’s Patch 
and went quite wild over the scenery; but it 
was clear to everybody that Henrietta’s de- 
cidedly aristocratic little grandmother and 
Marjory’s overwhelmingly neat Aunty Jane 
had never been intended by nature for camp 
life. Mrs. Slater, to be sure, enjoyed the fine 
sky, the wonderful expanse of blue water, the 
beautiful golden-brown river, and the deep, 
cool forest. She liked all these in a quiet, 
understanding way ; but one could see, although 
the tactful gentlewoman was most polite about 
it all, that the lowly balsam beds, the rough 
benches, the careless attire of the castaways had 


204 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

proved rather shocking to a lady accustomed 
always to luxurious ways of living. As for 
Aunty Jane, she liked nothing and did not 
hesitate to denounce camp life and all per- 
taining to it, Terrible Tim included. 

‘‘Marjory!’' she had exclaimed, at first 
sight of her usually spotless niece, “your dress 
is a perfect sight ! Go this instant and put on 
a clean one.” 

“ Why ! ” returned surprised Marjory, “ this 
is my clean one — I washed it yesterday.” 

“ Washed it ! ” gasped Aunty Jane. “ Well, 
you couldn’t have used much water.” 

“ Only the whole lake,” returned Marjory, 
meekly. “ But we haven’t any flatirons, so we 
just pull things somewhere near the right shape 
and dry them on the bushes. It’s lovely fun 
to wash — we go right in with our clothes.” 

“ Do you cook in those filthy pans ? ” next 
demanded Aunty Jane, inspecting the fruit of 
the large pine that served, as Mr. Black punned 
merrily, as a “ pan-tree.” 

“ They’re clean wside,” defended Jean. 

That’s smoke from the camp fire.” 


A Surprise Party 


205 


''I wash the outside of my saucepans/' 
sniffed Aunty Jane, with blighting emphasis. 
“ Also my frying-pans." 

‘‘ It isn’t considered proper in camp," re- 
turned Mr. Black, whose eyes were twinkling 
wickedly; but if you’d like a little missionary 
work. Miss Jane, there’s the dishcloth." 

‘‘ Dishcloth ! ’’ gasped Aunty Jane, disdain- 
fully, eying the fairly clean rag drying in the 
sun. “ I wouldn’t scrub my coal bin with a 
cloth the color of that." 

‘‘ I wouldn’t scrub mine with anything” 
laughed Mrs. Bennett; but never mind, Aunty 
Jane, our girls seem to be thriving in spite of 
torn dresses and unscoured pans. This life is 
doing them a world of good." 

‘‘ Good ! " sniffed Aunty Jane. ‘‘ Why ! 
The place must be fairly swarming with 
germs. I shouldn’t think of permitting Mar- 
jory to remain here — I shall take her home 
with me to-night." 

This was lightning from a clear sky. For a 
moment nobody said a word. Then there was 
a chorus of protests. 


2 o 6 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

‘‘ No, no ! shrieked Bettie, hurling herself 
upon Aunty Jane. “ She can’t go.” 

“ Oh, please, Aunty Jane,” cried Jean. 

We can’t spare her — she’s our telescope and 
our ears.” 

“ Oh, no,” stormed Mabel, we must keep 
her. ''She likes it here — ^and look at her face — 
all brown ” 

With dirt,” snapped Auntie Jane. ‘‘ It’ll 
take me a month to get that child clean — and 
a year to scour off those disgusting freckles.” 

Marjory groaned. The prospect was cer- 
tainly dismal. 

Never mind,” counseled impish Henrietta, 
whispering in Marjory’s ear. “ You can run 
away — I’ll help you. You can easily hide in 
the bushes so she can’t find you when the time 
comes — ^there’s forty good places to hide in — 
let’s find one now.” 

“ No,” moaned Marjory, “ I can't do that — 
I wouldn’t dare to. And it won’t do a mite 
of good to tease. If she says a thing she sticks 
to it — it’s all over for poor me.” 

When things went wrong, Bettie cried easily. 


A Surprise Party 207 

Henrietta wept copiously, and Mabel wailed 
uproariously; but Marjory, restrained little 
soul that she was, was seldom known to shed 
tears. But now several large specimens began 
to roll down Marjory’s cheeks, and presently, 
to Mr. Black’s dismay, the little girl was sob- 
bing bitterly, with her head against Jean’s flat 
but motherly bosom. 

Both Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane pleaded 
with Aunty Jane. All the parents reasoned 
with her. Even Mrs. Slater, who was no ( 
camper herself, implored Miss Higgins to 
change her mind. But that was a thing that 
the poor lady never could do. Some people 
can't change their minds — ^Aunty Jane couldn^t. 
Even when she wanted to she couldn’t. 

‘‘ Perhaps she’ll be more amiable after din- 
ner,” suggested gentle Doctor Tucker, whose 
mild eyes were shining at the prospect of catch- 
ing a trout with the hook that Mr. Black was 
baiting for him. “ Many persons are.” 

But the splendid noon dinner that hungry 
Aunty Jane had expected to devour was still 
nearly a mile from shore in Captain Berry’s 


2 o 8 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

launch, and the other launch-man couldn’t go 
after it; because, having incautiously ventured 
too near shore, he was now engaged in half- 
hearted attempts to dislodge his stranded craft 
from a troublesome sand bar. He declined all 
offers o'f assistance, saying that Captain Berry, 
whose engine would surely work sometime, 
could easily tow him into deeper water — he 
wasn’t goin’ to work hisself to death for no- 
body, no, not he. 

As nobody wanted to row a mile or more 
and then back again with a load of heavy 
baskets, nobody did; so Mrs. Crane did the 
best she could with what she had; but the 
camp-cooked dinner did not appeal to Aunty 
Jane, who refused to eat venison that Dave 
had touched and had no appetite for plain 
beans, boiled potatoes, and cindery johnny- 
cake. Altogether, poor Aunty Jane, who was 
never very pleasant, was in her unhappiest 
mood. 

‘‘ You see,” apologized Mrs. Crane, our 
provisions are pretty low; we haven’t a very 
large supply of cups and plates, and of course 


A Surprise Party 


209 


you haven’t been here long enough to acquire 
an appetite for camp fare. Let me give you 
a piece of this trout, Miss Higgins.” 

“ No, thank you,” was Aunty Jane’s frigid 
reply. “ I never eat fish.” 

‘‘ These beans,” assured Mrs. Slater, po- 
litely, “ are very nice indeed.” 

“ And I’m sure,” said Doctor Bennett, this 
is excellent coffee, even if I do have to drink 
from a cocoa can.” 

But Aunty Jane scorned them both. 

Tell us,” urged Mr. Black, about that 
boy of ours. What do you think of him? ” 

“ Why,” replied the merry doctor, the lad’s 
all right, considering what he’s been through. 
But, judging from his extreme thinness, being 
shipwrecked is only a small part of his un- 
happy experience.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” demanded Mrs. 
Mapes, uneasily. 

“No, my dear woman — all my dear wom- 
en,” Doctor Bennett hastened to add, “ he 
hasn’t had smallpox. But I do know that he 
was a sick boy before he was shipwrecked. 


210 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

because his body shows that he has lost more 
flesh than a boy could lose in so short a time/’ 
Yes,” corroborated Mrs. Crane, he was 
very thin when we found him.” 

“Tuberculosis!” breathed Aunty Jane. 

“ Nothing of the kind,” declared the doctor. 

“ But he was dreadfully thin,” asserted Ma- 
bel. “His legs ” 

“ Never mind his legs,” said Doctor Ben- 
nett. “ It’s his head that troubles us now. His 
body is mending with every moment; but 
there’s something seriously wrong with his 
memory ” 

“ A dangerous lunatic I ” gasped excitable 
Aunty Jane, half rising from her seat. 

“ No, no! ” shouted the exasperated doctor, 
who didn’t like Aunty Jane. “ Nothing of the 
sort. Merely a very pitiable boy who has been 
extremely ill, probably with pneumonia. A boy 
who is naturally very bright, in all ways but 
the one. A boy with an excellent constitution 
or this last experience would have finished him. 
The best thing we can possibly do for him is 
to keep him right here, build up his strength 


A Surprise Party 21 1 

in this splendid air, and then, when he’s en- 
tirely well, take him to a specialist — I’m wiser 
about bodies than brains.” 

“ Could I make him a pudding? ” demanded 
Mabel, unexpectedly. 

“ No,” roared the doctor. We want him 
to get well*' 

“ As for me,” said Henrietta, “ I shan’t be 
able to sleep nights until I know that boy’s real 
name.” 

“ Take my word for it,” warned Aunty 
Jane, “ he isn’t worth saving. He’ll prove 
either a thief or a tramp; or perhaps both. I 
wouldn’t think of taking in a stranger like 
that.” 

Mabel was about to retort indignantly, and, 
it is to be feared, impolitely; for this candid 
child was sometimes too candid; when Henri- 
etta whispered in her ear: 

“ Wouldn’t it be terrible if he proved to be 
just like Aunty Jane! ” 

This thought was so appalling, in spite of 
its impossibility, that for ten seconds Mabel 
sat in silence, with her eyes fairly bulging. 


212 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

‘‘ Henrietta/' she breathed finally, weren't 
— weren't you just fooling?" 

“ Listen ! " warned Henrietta. 

“ I’d rather be deceived fifty times," Mrs. 
Crane was saying, “ than let even a tramp go 
hungry; but that's an honest lad or I never 
saw one. It's quite possible that he’s poor, 
but that's no crime." 


CHAPTER XXI 


Dave jflRaFiee Ibimeelf Tllecful 

(^HOUTS from the lake now claimed the 
campers’ attention. Captain Berry’s ob- 
stinate engine had suddenly decided to work 
and was now making up for lost time by re- 
fusing to stop. The captain, as near shore 
as he dared approach, was spinning round and 
round in circles. Each time he neared the 
land he shouted lustily. 

“ He wants ^ something,” interpreted Mr. 
Black, rising from the table. “ Marjory — 
where is Marjory with her sharp ears? ” 

Crying in our tent,” replied Mabel, with 
a vindictive glance toward Aunty Jane. '‘If 
she wasn’t a good child, she’d climb a tree and 

stay there until some folks ” 

" There, there,” squelched Doctor Bennett, 
“ we mustn’t criticise our elders. Let’s see 
what that crazy boat is doing.” 

“ She’s stopped,” said Mr. Black, " and 


213 


214 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Dave’s swimming ashore — after the boats, I 
guess. Let’s help him.’’ 

Presently all sorts of boxes, bundles, and 
baskets were safely landed; all the campers 
and most of the visitors helping the good work 
along. Even Marjory, her face swollen and 
disfigured from much weeping, assisted a 
little. 

Hullo! ” cried Dave, catching sight of the 
sorrowful countenance. W’at you ees cry 
for, li’le gal?” 

Tactful Jean, seeing that Marjory was un- 
able to speak, replied for her. 

‘‘ Her aunt — she hasn’t any mother, you 
know — is going to take her home. She 
doesn’t want to go; but she can’t help her- 
self.” 

Dat’s too bad,” sympathized Dave. 
“ W’ich of dose ees hees aunt? ” 

Jean pointed out Aunty Jane — a middle- 
aged, unattractive lady, who sat bolt upright 
when everybody else loafed in comfortable, 
camp-y attitudes. 

‘‘ Yas, Ah’m see dose old gal biffore,” ad- 


Dave Makes Himself Useful 215 

mitted disrespectful Dave, eying Aunty Jane’s 
stiff, unconscious back reflectively. “ Ah’m 
not lak’ dose kind of lady ver’ moch — she ees 
tole me for take som’ baf/^ 

Even Marjory smiled forlornly at the idea 
of Dave’s taking a bath. But smiles did not 
last long that day. In spite of all the good 
things that came in baskets and bundles, in 
spite of a big box of candy that Saunders 
had included for Mabel and Henrietta, and in- 
scribed “ With the Game Warden’s Compli- 
ments,” the sympathetic little girls were very 
unhappy at the thought of losing Marjory. 
They had always played together; and now 
they were absolutely certain that they couldn’t 
have good times during the rest of their stay 
with no Marjory to help enjoy them. As for 
Marjory, that small maiden was shedding so 
many tears that Mabel feared there would soon 
be nothing left of her unhappy little friend. 
And by afternoon even the grown-ups were 
thoroughly vexed by Aunty Jane’s obstinacy. 

‘‘Oh, we all know,” said Mrs. Bennett to 
Mrs. Tucker, who sat under a tree, letting 


2 i 6 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

down a skirt for Bettie, “ that Aunty Jane 
means well ; she’d work her fingers to the bone 
for Marjory; but a real mother wouldn’t be 


Vinegar cruet,” supplied Doctor Bennett. 

She has completely spoiled the day,” de- 
clared Mrs. Tucker, for all those children; 
and we meant to give them a pleasant sur- 
prise.” 

Poor Aunty Jane couldn't be a pleasant 
surprise,” protested Mrs. Bennett, “ but we 
mustn’t blame her — she didn’t pick out her un- 
fortunate disposition. We’ll just have to be 
extra cheerful ourselves this afternoon to make 
up for her unpleasantness.” 

But no one succeeded in being ‘‘ extra 
cheerful,” when there was so much gloom to 
dispel; to the children, especially, the day 
seemed absolutely spoiled in spite of much un- 
expected and rather amusing sympathy from 
Dave, who plainly considered going home with 
Aunty Jane an unmixed calamity. 

I guess,” said Jean, shrewdly, that Dave 
likes to have us here.” 


Dave Makes Himself Useful 217 

And why not ? ” demanded Henrietta. 
‘‘ We give him all sorts of good things to eat 
and Mr. Black pays him besides, for all the 
work he doesn’t do. He’s just bought himself 
a nice new blanket and a fine big quilt — I no- 
ticed them on the beach. Why ! Something’s 
happening. Let’s see what it is.” 

Dave, with a large bundle on his shoulder, 
was crossing the clearing, in the direction of 
his wigwam. Aunty Jane, pointing at the bun- 
dle and scolding loudly, was scurrying after 
him. Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Mapes were scur- 
rying after her. Mrs. Slater, under a tree with 
Mrs. Tucker, seemed greatly amused; for this 
bright old lady possessed a strong sense of 
humor. 

'‘What is it, Granny?” demanded Henri- 
etta, pausing at sight of the dainty little grand- 
mother’s smiling countenance. “ Is she trying 
again to make Dave take a bath ? ” 

“ No, Honey,” laughed Mrs. Slater. “ She 
thinks she recognizes that quilt — she missed 
one off her clothesline several nights ago.” 

Dave, seeing that Aunty Jane was not to 


21 8 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

be shaken off, stopped, untied his bundle, sep- 
arated the quilt from the other articles, and 
offered it to the pursuing lady. 

‘‘Yas,” grinned Dave, Ah’m fink dose 
queelt she ees yours, maybe. She’s grow on 
som’ clothesline jus’ biffore de back part of 
dose house of madame hon Lakeveele. Me, 
Ah’m need som’ more queelt — som’ tarn’ Ah’m 
got company. Mus’ feex noddaire bed, Ah’m 
t’ink.” 

“ Well,” replied Aunty Jane, tartly, as she 
reached for the guilt, you’d better think 
again. Give it to me this instant.” 

Then, catching a whiff of the aroma that 
was ever a part of Dave, Aunty Jane fairly 
hurled the restored comforter at the grinning 
thief. 

“ For goodness’ sake! ” she gasped. ''Take 
it, you filthy Indian. There isn’t water enough 
in Lake Superior to get the smell out of any- 
thing you’ve touched.” 

" Yas,” returned Dave, blandly accepting the 
quilt, " Ah’m sleep hon dose queelt hall de way 
from Lakeveele. Night biffore, halso. Ah’m 


Dave Makes Himself Useful 219 

moch obliged for dose present, madame. 
Dose ver' good queelt, Ah’m t’ink/' 

great deal too good for you, you filthy 

beast/' 

Dave’s ill-kept teeth still gleamed in his wide, 
amiable smile ; but his narrowed black eyes sud- 
denly glittered in a cold, snaky way that 
started an unpleasant chill down Aunty Jane’s 
spine. 

'' That wicked Indian,” she said afterwards, 
“ thanked me and looked as if he’d like to mur- 
der me, all in the same breath.” 

‘‘ Indians,” mused Doctor Tucker, are said 
to be revengeful.” 

Perhaps, with so many little girls sorrow- 
ful on Marjory’s account, the sky hadn’t the 
heart to keep on smiling. At any rate, a full 
hour earlier than the visitors had expected to 
leave, their launch-man was pointing pessi- 
mistically toward gathering clouds— no one 
else had noticed them. 

“If you folks want to get home before it 
rains,” said he, “you’d better be climbing 
aboard — less’n you want to stay here all night.” 


220 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Mercy ! ” cried Aunty Jane, springing to 
her feet, I wouldn’t stay for a million dol- 
lars.” 

Mrs. Slater was too polite to say that she 
wouldn’t either; but she, too, rose rather hastily 
to look about for scattered belongings. 

Dave assisted everybody with wonderful 
alacrity. He was here, there, and everywhere. 
The girls assisted, too — ^perhaps that was why 
it took so long to find all Marjory’s widely 
dispersed garments. They were still at this 
task after most of the mothers had climbed 
aboard the launch. Marjory, by this time 
fairly helpless with grief, sat on a log and 
wept; while Aunty Jane, on her knees under 
a nearby tree, attempted to roll the accumu- 
lated garments into a neat bundle. 

Somehow — nobody knew exactly how — 
Terrible Tim, the porcupine, made his pres- 
ence felt just at this busy moment. One in- 
stant the object in Aunty Jane’s grasp was an 
innocent bundle of clothing. The next, the 
horrified lady was clutching an astonished and 
most dreadfully prickly porcupine; for Tim- 


Dave Makes Himself Useful 221 

othy, propelled by some mysterious force, had 
landed squarely in her arms. ' 

Instantly the air was rent with shrieks. No 
one noticed the extra shriek or two that Mar- 
jory added to the chorus as a dark, sinewy arm 
shot forth and suddenly grasped her. No one 
saw lithe Dave draw the frightened, dazed little 
girl into the thicket, toss her across his shoul- 
der, and flee, by a roundabout trail that no 
civilized foot could have found, toward his own 
wigwam. 

‘‘ Be still,” commanded Dave, clapping his 
hand gently but effectually over Marjory’s 
mouth. “ Don’t be scare — Ah’m good frien’ 
to you, li’le gal. Now ron, ron fast hon your 
own leg.” 

Astonishment prevented further desire to 
shriek, for, near the doorway of Dave’s wig- 
wam and washing a grimy pan with a grimier 
rag, stood a dark but decidedly attractive 
young woman. And down in the dirt at her 
feet, as Marjory had seen her many times 
previously, groveled the Dandelion Cottage 
baby, the unforgettable Rosa Marie. 


222 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Marjory, at sight of the funny little Indian 
baby that Mabel had once adopted, almost for- 
got her own troubles. 

Ma sistaire,” explained Dave, pointing to- 
ward the woman. “ Hees name ees Mahjigee- 
zigoqua. Can you say dose name ? 

Mar-gee-gee-ze-go-qua,’' repeated Mar- 
jory, correctly making the first g soft, the sec- 
ond hard. ‘‘ But how did you get them here.^ 
We didn’t see them leave the boat.” 

“Ah’m pack dem wit’ dose proveesion,” 
laughed Dave. Ah’m poot dose two hon 
shore behin’ som’ point, w’ile all dose peop’ ees 
too busy for look at Dave. Ma sistaire ees 
come for pick som’ berry. Hey, you know 
dose kid? W’y you no talk, Rosa Marie? 
Here ees som’ frien’ for you.” 

Then Dave spoke rapidly in some strange 
tongue to his sister, concluding in his broken 
English, as he turned to go : 

Now Ah’m go for help dose ol’ Aunt hon 
top dose boat. You stay here.” 

Nevertheless, conscientious Marjory started 
to follow him; but Rosa Marie’s mother, step- 


Dave Makes Himself Useful 223 

ping quickly into the narrow pathway, gently 
but unmistakably detained her. 

“ You talk som’ leetle t’ing to Rosa Marie 
— she ees remembaire you, ees eet not, Rosa? 
See, how he ees grow som' hon herself, dose so 
fat Rosa." 

So Marjory, seeing no way of immediate 
escape with the attractive young Indian woman 
firmly blocking the pathway, renewed her ac- 
quaintance with Rosa Marie, who apparently 
was as stolid and as unemotional as ever. 

‘‘ Hees fadaire lak’ dat," explained Mahji- 
geezigoqua. ‘‘ He t’ink hon hees inside 
honly. No talk, no mak' som’ smile hon her 
face, dose man." 

If Rosa Marie did any thinking, it is certain 
that the process went on “ inside only," for if 
ever there was a wooden little Indian it was 
Rosa Marie. But by dint of hard work, Mar- 
jory finally extracted a smile. Then Rosa 
Marie, groping under her brief skirts, pro- 
duced the very dirtiest and most disreputable 
doll that Marjory had ever beheld. 

“ Ma-&^//’ said Rosa Marie. “ Ma-&^/." 


224 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

‘‘ She ees name for Mees Mzhel” explained 
the Indian baby’s mother. 

‘‘ Mabel ought to feel flattered/’ giggled 
Marjory. ‘‘ I’ll tell her about her namesake. 
But mercy! I must go back ” 

“ Wait,” said Dave’s sister, lightly clasping 
her slender brown fingers about Marjory’s 
wrist. ‘'Ah show you how to catch som’ 
chipmunk.” 

And Marjory, realizing that she was a pris- 
oner, stayed where she was. 


CHAPTER XXII 


21 ^wi 0 teO Conscience 

gY the time Dave returned, Aunty Jane had 
been separated from Terrible Tim and a 
large number of loose quills. All the others 
had embarked, but Aunty Jane, breathing 
dire threats, still lingered to look for Mar- 
jory. 

“ Are you sure,” asked Henrietta, sincerely, 
“ that she didn’t go aboard with that last 
boat-load? I don’t think she was here when 
poor Timothy tumbled out of that tree.” 

Did he tumble ? ” snapped Aunty Jane. / 
think he jumped.” 

At this moment, Dave — the only person 
who knew exactly how Terrible Tim happened 
to land where he did — joined in the search for 
Marjory. 

“ Ah’m smell pooty good,” asserted crafty 
Dave, crawling about on all-fours and making 
an elaborate pretense of sniffing at the sand, 
225 


226 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

and Ah’m sure dose gal ees mak’ som’ track 
for dose boat.” 

“Hi there!” shouted Mr. Black, from the 
beach. “ Captain says he can’t wait a moment 
longer — other boat’s halfway home by now. 
Or are you going to stay with us, Miss Hig- 
gins? There’s plenty of room.” 

“ No, I’m not/' snapped Aunty Jane, fleeing 
down the bank. “ With your dirty Indians 
and your flying beasts this is no place for a 
decent woman.” 

It is said that one disagreeable person in 
camp can spoil the very pleasantest party, and 
the saying must be true, for with Aunty Jane 
at Pete’s Patch nothing had seemed quite right 
— the luster was gone from everything — even 
the sky. But, as Captain Berry’s delayed 
launch began the determined chug-chugging 
that soon carried the little boat into deeper 
water, everybody on shore breathed a sigh of 
relief; and overhead, as Henrietta pointed out, 
laughingly, a tiny patch of gold glimmered 
among the clouds. 

“ They say,” mused Mr. Black, “ that living 




A Twisted Conscience 

227 


close to Nature brings out all your traits more 
strongly/’ 

“ Yes, Peter,” laughed Mrs. Crane, Fve 
noticed that you’re lazier here than you were 
in town.” 

“ I was thinking,” returned Mr. Black, with 
dignity, that folks with sharp tongues and 
twisted tempers ought never to venture into 
the woods.” 

Aunty Jane was a good mile from shore be- 
fore Dave turned, with his wickedest grin, to- 
ward the castaways. 

“ Come wit’ me,” he invited. Ah’m fool 
dose aunt lady, Ah’m t’ink.” 

“What do you mean?” demanded Mr. 
Black. 

“ Come wit’ me,” repeated Dave, with the 
most complacent of smiles. “ Ah’m show you 
som’ deer in a trap — ^Ah’m snare heem just 
now.” 

Of course Mr. Black and the girls wanted 
to see so unusual a sight as a trapped deer; 
but when they discovered that the deer was a 
dear, their own beloved Marjory, their aston- 


228 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

ishment was great. And of course they were 
no less surprised to see Rosa Marie and Mahji- 
geezigoqua, her almost unspellable mother. 

“Marjory!’’ gasped Jean. “We thought 
you were on the boat ! ” 

“ Marjory,” panted Mabel. “ All your 
clothes are on that boat.” 

“ These aren’t,” returned Marjory, indicat- 
ing what she had on. “ And my skin isn’t — I 
can wear that, if I have to.” 

“ Granny brought me loads of things,” as- 
sured Henrietta. “ I guess you won’t need to 
come down to skin.” 

“ Marjory,” demanded Mr. Black, rather 
severely for so mild a man, “ do you mean to 
say that you were naughty enough to delib- 
erately hide from Aunty Jane ? ” 

Marjory colored, but remained silent. It 
occurred to her suddenly that telling the truth 
would seem a good deal like disloyalty to Dave 
— Dave, who had been her friend. As Mar- 
jory was not in the habit of fibbing, she didn’t 
know what to say. 

“ Eef dose gal won’t ron away on herself,” 




A Twisted Conscience 

229 


explained Dave, promptly exonerating Marjory 
from all blame, me, Ah’m mus’ ron away wit’ 
heem. Ah’m pull heem into de bush and ron, 
ron lak’ de dev’ (devil). Hey, li’le gal; Ah’m 
good frien’ to you, hey? An’ now dose aunt, 
w’at smell too strong wit’ hees nose, ees gone 
two-t’ree mile, Ah’m t’ink.” 

“ Dave,” queried Mr. Black, shaking his 
head soberly, is there any way of discovering 
what you do think? Are you all rascal or are 
you part angel — with the angel part very much 
disguised ? I can’t make you out.” 

But this was too deep for Dave. 

Ah’m t’ink,” replied Dave, replying to 
only the first part of Mr. Black’s question, 
dat dose poor li’le Margy ees don’t want to 
go home wit’ hees aunt. Me, Ah’m not care 
for go home wit’ dose aunt maself.” 

At this the delighted girls shrieked with 
mirth, for the idea of Aunty Jane taking Dave 
home with her would have amused even 
Dave’s solemn dog. Mr. Black, however, still 
frowned slightly, for Dave puzzled him. 

‘‘ Dave,” said he, you’re altogether too full 


230 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

of tricks. I suppose you don’t know what 
courtesy toward a woman means; but you’ve 
certainly been ruder than you should have been 
to poor Miss Higgins. You’ll have to go to 
Lakeville to-night and tell that poor woman 
that Marjory is safe — ^perhaps I’d better write 
her a note so she won’t blame Marjory.” 

‘‘ Ah’m go right off,” agreed Dave, cheer- 
fully. Maybe Ah’m find som’ more queelt 
on hees line.” 

Dave, you incorrigible rascal,” stormed 
Mr. Black, ‘‘ you let that lady’s clothesline 
alone. Steal one off my line, if you must have 
a quilt — I’m better able to spare it.” 

Ah’m good frien’ to you/' protested Dave, 
earnestly, with the outstretched hand of good- 
fellowship. You shake hon dat? ” 

I hope you are,” returned Mr. Black, shak- 
ing the proffered hand. ‘‘ But, Dave, your con- 
science is like that river — no one could possi- 
bly map its windings. And after this, my 
man, you must be a good friend to my friends, 
as well as to me. Now let’s go back to camp 
and see what our Billy boy is doing.” 




A Twisted Conscience 

231 


Dave, evidently somewhat troubled, for he 
still had an unconfessed misdeed on his mind, 
followed the castaways back to the clearing. 
They found Mrs. Crane sitting disconsolately 
on the bench outside her tent. 

That boy’s so blue,” she confided, advanc- 
ing to meet them, ‘'that I’m staying outside 
to give him a chance to cry. I guess he thought 
the doctor was going to cure him right off and 
he’s terribly disappointed.” 

“ Couldn’t we tell him about Dave and 
Aunty Jane ? ” queried Bettie. “ That ought 
to cheer anybody — ^just think, Mrs. Crane, 
Dave hid Marjory in his wigwam, with Rosa 
Marie and her mother.” 

“ Rosa Marie! And didn’t Marjory go on 
the boat ? ” 

“ No, Marjory’s back there with Mabel and 
Rosa Marie — she’s Dave’s niece.” 

“Dave’s niece! Well, well ” 

“ I guess Dave doesn’t like Aunty Jane,” in- 
terrupted Henrietta. “ I can’t be sure — it was 
all so exciting just then — but I think Dave slid 
down the trunk of one of those big trees just 


232 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

after Terrible Tim landed between Aunty Jane 
and that bundle.’' 

She might have been badly hurt,” said 
Mrs. Crane, indignantly. Dave, come here 
a moment — I want to talk to you. Did you 
drop that porcupine into Miss Higgins’ lap ? ” 

“ Eef som’ porkypine ees go for drop,” re- 
turned Dave, whimsically, eet ees good dat 
he ees land on som’ sof plass. Som’ tarn’, 
Ah’m tole, she’s rain cat an’ dog; som’ tarn’ 
she’s rain porkypine. W’at for? Me, Ah’m 
can’t tole you. De sky she ees made dose 
way.” 

‘‘ Well,” warned Mrs. Crane, you’d better 
see to it, Dave, that it doesn’t rain any more 
porcupines — I don’t like such tricks.” 

‘‘ Ah’m not please nobody,” sighed Dave, 
dolefully, “ w’en Ah’m try all day to help all 
dose body.” 

But, Dave,” remonstrated Mrs. Crane, 
‘‘you do so many wrong things. You stole 
that quilt from Miss Higgins’ line, didn’t 
you?” 

“ Yas,” replied Dave. “ Dose blanket, too.” 




A Twisted Conscience 

233 


“ Dave, you poor benighted creature ! Don’t 
you know it’s wrong to steal ? ” 

Yas,” admitted incorrigible Dave, with an 
unmistakable twinkle in his eye. Ah’m 
t’ink so, w’en som’body ees eat up all dose 
venison of me. She’s very bad for stole all 
dose meat — Me, Ah’m have no dinnaire, me. 
Halso, Ah’m got no suppaire, Ah’m soppose. 

Mus’ break som’ more game law ” 

“ Dave ! ” cried Mrs. Crane, contritely. 
‘'You sit right down at that table and I’ll give 
you the best meal you ever ate.” 

“ But,” mourned the wily half-breed, seating 
himself, nevertheless^^ " Rosa Marie, ma sis- 
taire, too, mus’ dose two starve ? ” 

" Why — why, no ! ” gasped Mrs. Crane. 
“ I’ll fix something for them, too.” 

" Som’ day,” promised Dave, sincerely, 
“ Ah’m geeve you som’ good fat moskrat.” 

Too polite to say so, Mrs. Crane hoped fer- 
vently that Dave would forget that promise; 
she was quite certain that she wouldn’t enjoy 
eating a “ good fat muskrat,” or even a very 
thin one. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


yiRemorB 

TT7HILE Mrs. Crane was supplying Dave 
with a bountiful meal, the girls were 
telling Billy about Rosa Marie, Marjory, Aunty 
Jane, the porcupine — in short, all the news of 
that eventful day. Billy, with brightening 
eyes, was certainly enjoying it all, particularly 
the part about Terrible Tim. 

Once,” began Billy, reminiscently, “ when 
I was a kid I saw ” 

But what Billy had seen could only be 
guessed, for the brightness slipped from his 
eyes and he pulled the corner of his blanket 
over his face. 

“ I can’t remember a blamed thing,” he 
mumbled, with a catch in his throat. 

“ Cheer up,” teased Henrietta, gently. 

Nobody ’d want to remember anything that 
looks like Terrible Tim. But when you see 
him, you’ll probably remember what you were 
234 


Billy’s Memory 235 

going to say. Did they tell you that you’re to 
come outside to-morrow and lie in a hammock 
with soft-boiled eggs? Oh, I mean you’re to 
eat the eggs. Aren’t you glad?” 

“ I like eggs,” said the boy, uncovering one 
eye. “ Chicken, too, and roast beef.” 

‘‘ Perhaps Dave will get you a partridge — 
Doctor Bennett said you could eat that. Did 
you ever eat partridge ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” returned Billy. 

‘‘ Where ? ” demanded Bettie and Henrietta, 
with one voice. 

“ At — at — oh, it’s gone ! ” wailed Billy, 
‘‘ when I had it right at the end of my tongue.” 

“ Don’t worry,” soothed motherly Jean. 
“ You’re 2i lot better than you were yesterday. 
We can all see that.” 

“ Think so? Well, maybe I am. Is that — 
yes, it is milk toast. Tastes just like food. 
^ure I’m ready for another bite.” 

‘‘ It’s the good sweet cream those people 
brought,” said Mrs. Crane. 

I hope,” murmured Billy, between bites, 
‘‘ they’ll come often.” 


236 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ I don’t,” protested Mabel. “ Visitors are 
a nuisance — they stir things up too much.” 

“ Her mother scrubbed her,” laughed Hen- 
rietta, ‘‘ and brushed a lot of sand out of her 
hair — didn’t you hear terrible wails ? But Ma- 
bel was glad to see her mother, just the same.” 

The threatening clouds that had so alarmed 
the two launch-men passed harmlessly over 
Pete’s Patch; and the next day proved so fine 
that Billy was moved to a hammock under the 
trees, where the overlapping leaves of huge 
maples formed a most attractive roof. The 
change agreed with him; fortified with fresh 
eggs and fresh air he grew stronger with as- 
tonishing rapidity; a rapidity that proved 
alarming to Mrs. Crane; for, like Bettie, this 
new invalid was no sooner on his feet than 
he made tracks for the alluring lake. 

“ If I had a bathing suit,” said Billy, when 
Mrs. Crane had, for the fourth time, forbidden 
him to wade in the lake, “ I’d go in swimming 
— then you couldn’t pull me out so easily.” 

‘‘ But, Billy ” 

“All right, I’ll be good,” promised Billy, 


Billy’s Memory 237 

“ but that’s a mighty fine bunch of water — 
say, couldn’t you make some swimming tights 
for a chap? ” 

“ When you’re strong enough to swim,” 
agreed Mrs. Crane. 

Physically, young Billy improved by leaps 
and bounds; but the stronger he grew, the more 
he worried over his strange lapses of memory. 

Sometimes I dream things,” complained 
Billy, one day. And when I wake up I won- 
der how much of it is true. Last night I 
thought I was falling down, down out of an 
airship and I called ‘ Mother, mother ! I can’t 
find my umbrella.’ ” 

‘‘ Have you a mother? ” asked Jean, quickly. 

‘‘ I don’t know. But I think so — I dream of 
some person who says : ‘ Now don’t do that. 
Lad— Lad ’ ” 

“ Laddie,” supplied Bettie, promptly. 

Laddie ! ” shouted the boy. ‘‘ That’s it — 
it didn’t get away that time.” 

“ Sometimes,” said Laddie-Billy, another 
day, “ when Dave comes into sight, I almost 
call him by another name; but the name doesn’t 


238 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

quite come — I think I’ve known somebody — 
in a boat, perhaps — that looked like him.’^ 

There were many things, fortunately, that 
the boy had not forgotten. He handled his 
knife and fork properly, ate his soup daintily, 
and proved later that he had once been able 
to row a boat; though at first, of course, his 
strength had been unequal to very strenuous 
efforts with the oars. In spite of his unhappy 
experience with the lake, he seemed, strangely 
enough, to be exceedingly fond of the water 
and to feel not the slightest fear of it. Mrs. 
Crane, indeed, would have been glad to find 
him more cowardly; for, long before the pur- 
posely delayed bathing suit was ready, Billy 
had gone in swimming in his only clothes. 
Also, it was next to impossible to keep him 
out of the boats. 

Time proved, too, that the water-loving 
castaway was a bright lad. He could read 
and write very readily in English, knew a little 
French, and was rather clever at figures. 
Of ter, when glancing through the advertising 
pages of magazines, his expressive face would 




Billy’s Memory 

239 


light up and Laddie-Billy (as the girls now 
called him to please Mabel) would exclaim, 
joyfully : ‘‘ IVe seen that picture before.’' 

But the things that the curiously afflicted 
boy wanted to remember refused obstinately 
to come; and this grieved him sorely. 

“ I suppose,” said Billy, one balmy evening, 
when all the youngsters were roasting potatoes 
between two glowing logs, “I’m really well 
enough to go home, but — but where is my 
home ? ” 

“ You needn’t worry about that,” assured 
Mrs. Crane. “ We’re more than willing to 
keep you right here — as long as you don’t 
tumble out of those boats.” 

“ Yes,” added Mr. Black, heartily, “ we 
really need a boy to help us when Dave is busy 
breaking the game laws. I’m only afraid that 
Saunders will come along some day with an 
answer to that advertisement. You’re well 
worth keeping, my lad.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” smiled Billy, cheered 
by these kindly assurances. “ I’ll try to be, 
anyway.” 


240 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ We all like you,” declared Mabel, “ even 
if you are getting fat.” 

“ Am I ? ” queried Laddie-Billy, anxiously. 
“Gracious! If I do, these clothes — can it be 
that ril come to wearing a blue plaid bathing 
suit all the time?” 

For Mrs. Crane, for want of other material, 
was slowly converting her biggest and most 
gorgeous gingham apron into a decidedly 
queer bathing costume for her lively charge. 

‘‘ The bagginess,” Mrs. Crane explained, 
when the castaway suggested mildly that part 
of the cloth might be saved for other pur- 
poses, “ will fill up with air and keep you 
from sinking.” * 

And naughty Henrietta had added, under 
her breath : “ Behold Billy Blue-eyes, the Hu- 
man Balloon.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


B /IButual 3frfcn& 

J^URING the blissful summer that Jean, 
Bettie, Mabel, and Marjory had spent in 
Dandelion Cottage, and before the coming of 
Henrietta, the little girls had frequently found 
themselves in need of real money for their 
make-believe housekeeping. In order to pro- 
cure the needed funds, they had rented a room 
to a charming young woman namd Miss 
Blossom. 

Miss Blossom's father, an organ tuner by 
profession, visited many towns in the course 
of a year. In July, while the castaways were 
still in camp, some portion of the Presbyterian 
organ in Lakeville went wrong; and skilful 
Mr. Blossom, summoned to that town to repair 
it, was accompanied by his very pleasant 
daughter. Of course the very first thing she 
did was to ask for her young friends. 

We've only three days to spend here," said 
241 


242 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

she, but I should like to see those darling 
girls — Fve thought of them so many, many 
times/' 

“ Suppose,” said Mrs. Bennett, to whom 
Miss Blossom had appealed, “ you go to Mr. 
Saunders — he may be sending things up.” 

'‘Mr. William Saunders?” queried the 
young woman, with interest. “Oh — I met 
him when I was here last summer. Thank 
you — ril get father to take me to his office this 
noon.” 

So that is how it happened that the ever- 
useful Saunders, who had been commissioned 
to supply Laddie-Billy with a wardrobe, 
loaded Miss Blossom aboard Captain Berry’s 
launch that very afternoon. And then, feeling 
certain that the pleasant and very pretty young 
woman would be lonely with no one but the 
captain for company, Mr. Saunders added 
himself to the load. 

The castaways, always eager for the arrival 
of parcels from home, were all on the beach 
to welcome the unexpected visitors. Even 
Billy, who declared that he had never felt 




A Mutual Friend 

243 


better in his life, was part of the sunburnt 
group. 

“ I know,” lamented Billy, that those 
clothes’ll be too small — I’ve grown a foot since 
Mr. Black measured me three days ago.” 

‘‘ Oh, not a whole foot,” protested Mrs. 
Crane, eying her patient with pride. “ But 
I do think you’re a credit to my nursing.” 

‘‘ It isn’t everybody,” beamed Billy, that 
has such a fine nurse — shall I help with that 
boat, Mr. Black?” 

“ No, Dave’ll take her out.” 

“ Why ! ” cried Marjory, “ there are people 
getting into Captain Berry’s skiff.” 

I think,” said Jean, a moment later, that 
the man is Mr. Saunders ; but I don’t know the 
lady — I can’t see her face.” 

“She looks young,” said Marjory, with a 
sigh of relief. “ Too young to be Aunty Jane. 
Just at first — Ugh ! I was scared — Oh ! 
It’s ” 

“ Why ! ” cried Billy, springing suddenly to 
his feet and rushing straight toward the land- 
ing place, “ it’s Miss Blossom ! ” 


244 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Miss Blossom ! gasped Jean, gazing in 
open-eyed amazement at the others. 

‘‘ Miss Blossom ! ” echoed Mabel. 

‘‘ Miss Blossom ! ” breathed Bettie. Oh ! 
Look at Billy ! It really is Miss Blossom, and 
he knows her ! 

It certainly looked as if Billy, the unknown 
castaway, had found a friend; for, not wait- 
ing for the boat to land, he had rushed into 
the water (it was shallow, you remember, for 
a long distance) and had seized the surprised 
young woman in a bearlike hug. 

‘‘ Miss Blossom ! Miss Blossom ! ” he cried, 
hopefully. “What is my name? 

“ Why, my dear Laddie,’’ returned the over- 
whelmed (and almost overturned) young 
woman, “what does all this mean? Never 
before was I so warmly greeted by any young 
man. Is this — Oh, I see. You’re the sick and 
shipwrecked boy that Mr. Saunders — but 
you're not sick ! ” 

“ Not any more,” gasped excited Billy, still 
with an arm about Miss Blossom, as if fearful 
she might escape. “ But I can’t remember 




A Mutual Friend 

245 


anything. Tell me, quick — where did I come 
from? — who am I? I know you. I pumped 
the organ for you — a big church — ^you played 
— Oh, tell me, tell me.” 

Wait,” pleaded Miss Blossom, until 
we’re on shore — you’ll surely tip us over.” 

‘^All right,” agreed Billy, reluctantly. But 
so great was his eagerness to get his friend 
ashore that he got behind the boat and pushed. 

Now,” demanded excited Billy, the mo- 
ment Miss Blossom was out of the boat, 
^‘what’s the rest of my name? Laddie — Lad- 
die whatf 

I don’t know,” confessed Miss Blossom, 
coloring with chagrin. “ Honestly I don’t. 
Laddie. You see, so many boys have pumped 
organs for us that I don’t always remember 
even their first names.” 

But,” panted Billy, with a catch in his 
throat, “ surely you’ll remember the name of 
the town?” 

‘‘ No — o,” faltered Miss Blossom, “ I’m 
afraid I don’t. I remember your face and 
your very bright hair — I can see that bright 


246 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

head bobbing up and down in the light of a 
stained glass window — but I don't know which 
town or even which state I saw you in. But 
don’t worry, Laddie-boy. My father has a 
list of all the organs he has ever mended. 
Now, it must be some time within the last two 
years that you pumped for us ; and it is proba- 
ble that we stayed with that particular organ 
for a number of days, else I wouldn’t have 
had time to learn that you were ‘ Laddie ’ — I 
usually call the organ-pumper ‘ Boy.’ Now, 
when I’ve looked at father’s list. I’ll pick out 
all the long jobs, discover what towns they 
were in, and perhaps Mr. Saunders, here, will 
write a notice to 'insert in the papers that are 
published in those towns. Don’t worry. One 
of them will certainly be your town. And 
here are all my precious girls patiently waiting 
to be hugged ! ” 

Miss Blossom proved a most delightful 
visitor. The girls wanted to keep her, Mrs. 
Crane urged her to stay; but Miss Blossom 
declared that she owed it to Laddie-Billy to 
get back to Lakeville as speedily as possible. 




A Mutual Friend 

247 


Captain Berry, also, would remain for only 
two hours; but everybody visited fast and furi- 
ously for that precious interval of time — it 
went all too quickly. 

“ I’m quite sure,” declared Miss Blossom, 
at parting, ‘‘that father’s list will help.” 

Let me know,” pleaded Billy, who had 
donned his becoming new clothes without delay 
and happily found them sufficiently large, ‘‘ if 
you find anything.” 

“ I surely will,” promised Miss Blossom. 

Three days later, Mr. Saunders, this time 
on horseback, rode into camp. 

“ I’m commissioned,” he explained, to say 
a certain word in Billy’s hearing. Where is 
he?” 

Getting washed for dinner,” replied Henri- 
etta, flourishing the bread-knife toward the 
river. 

Don’t mention my errand,” said Saunders. 

I’ll spring it on Billy when we’re all at table 
— I’ve invited myself to dinner.” 

We’ll let everybody get seated before we 
call Billy,” agreed Henrietta. And I’ll warn 


248 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

the girls. You might tie your horse behind 
those bushes and perhaps he won’t know 
you’re here until you speak.” 

Sure enough, hungry Billy plunged to his 
place without observing the visitor; but when 
the plates were filled, Mr. Saunders suddenly 
leaned forward, looked at Billy, and remarked 
casually : “ The last time I was in Pitts- 
burg ” 

“Pittsburg!” gasped Billy, with widening 
eyes. “Were you ever in Pittsburg?” 

“ No,” admitted Saunders, rather sheepishly. 
“ Were you?” 

“Yes!” yelled Billy, joyously waving his 
slice of bread. “ Two-twenty-four Jefferson 
Street, Pittsburg, Pennsylvania; population 
three hundred and twenty-one thousand. 
Sure! I was born there! That’s where I 
liver 

“ But how,” queried Henrietta, strong in all 
matters geographical, “ could a person set sail 
from Pittsburg and be wrecked at Pete’s 
Patch, Upper Michigan? ” 

“ He couldn’t,” replied Mr. Black. 




A Mutual Friend 

249 


“ Nevertheless/' said Saunders, I’ve sent 
notices to all the Pittsburg papers — what’s that 
street number again ? ” 

“ I — I don’t know,” stammered Billy. “ It’s 
gone again. I guess it’s easier to think when 
you’re not trying to.” 

“Jefferson Street,” supplied Marjory, who 
had remembered. 

Billy nodded. “ Yes,” said he, “that sounds 
right. But how did you guess Pittsburg, Mr. 
Saunders ? ” 

“ In Mr. Blossom’s note-book there was an 
item, under the heading ‘ Pittsburg,’ that read : 
‘ Paid Laddie one dollar.’ ” 

“ Wonder where it went ? ” said the boy, 
turning his empty pockets inside out. 

“ By this time to-morrow,” promised 
Saunders, “all Pittsburg will know that a 
Pittsburg boy name Laddie, wrecked on Lake 
Superior, is alive and well in — or near — Lake- 
ville.” 

“ Lost : ” murmured Laddie, “ a brindle pup; 
answers to the name of Billy. Well, I’m aw- 
fully obliged, Mr. Saunders; and my folks — I 


250 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

wonder if my folks want to find me? Do you 
s’pose they do?” 

“ I’m sure of it,” declared Mrs. Crane. 

But if they don’t, Fll keep you.” 

Nobody ’d ever think,” sniffed Mabel, 
overcome with emotion, ‘'that Fd found that 
boy — everybody adopting him all the time.” 

“ You found Rosa Marie, too, didn’t you? ” 
teased Billy. “ Well, I refuse to be a twin 
sister to Rosa Marie.” 

“ Who,” asked Saunders, “ is Rosa Marie? ” 

“ She’s a relative,” remarked Mr. Black, 
dryly, “ that Dave imported for the express 
purpose of eating our berries. Dave, it seems, 
not only lives here himself but entertains his 
relatives at our expense.” 

“And Peter encourages Dave in all his 
iniquity,” added Mrs. Crane. 

“ And,” laughed Bettie, “ Mrs. Crane cooks 
for Dave and all his visitors.” 

“ Well,” admitted Mrs. Crane, “ they’d 
either starve or steal if I didn’t.” 

“ Dave,” said Marjory, who had learned 
much of the Gurneau family history from the 




A Mutual Friend 

251 


friendly Indian, “ has nine brothers and seven 
sisters — his mother had seventeen children/’ 

“ Good gracious ! ” exclaimed Mr. Black, 
do they all live here at times? ” 

‘‘ No,” laughed Marjory. Most of them 
are in Canada.” 

‘‘ Dear me,” breathed Mrs. Crane, fervently, 
“ I hope they’ll stay there.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


B Captured ^fisberman 

'VJ OW that there was hope of learning more 
about Billy Blue-eyes, the young camp- 
ers found it hard to wait patiently for possible 
tidings from Pittsburg. They were all rest- 
less and excited; Laddie in particular could 
settle down to nothing. 

We’ll all go fishing,” declared Mr. Black. 
‘‘ That’ll keep Billy’s mind off his troubles. 
Dave says he knows a trail that will lead us 
to the finest fishing spot in the country; so 
we’ll take a lunch and stay all day.” 

‘‘ Laddie,” queried Mrs. Crane, anxiously, 
‘‘ are you strong enough for such a long trip ? ” 
“ Sure,” asserted her fidgety patient, ‘‘ I 
could pull in a whaled 

“^Then,” declared Mrs. Crane, ‘‘ I’ll get 
Mahjigeezigoqua to wash the dishes and 
make the beds, and I’ll go, too. I don’t care 
if I do get rheumatism — I haven’t been fishing 
^52 


A Captured Fisherman 253 

for years. And that young woman loves to do 
things for us.” 

No wonder,” said Jean, “ after all you did 
for Rosa Marie last winter.” 

Put on your very oldest shoes,” ordered 
Mr. Black. “ You’re to wade the river — Dave 
says it’s shallow all the way down, except in 
a few spots where we can follow a trail along 
the bank. He’s cutting poles for everybody.” 

For perhaps half an hour, sure-footed Dave, 
carrying the lunch in a bag on his back, led 
the fishing party through thickets that Mr. 
Black had supposed impenetrable, to come out 
at last on the river bank. It was their own 
many-curved river, but so wildly beautiful at 
this seldom visited spot that even quiet Mrs. 
Ciane exclaimed loudly. Then, their hooks 
baited, they waded into the shallow, wind- 
ing stream, and fished. 

Go down dose stream,” commanded Dave. 
‘‘ Bam-bye she’s take you back to Pete’s 
Patch.” 

Here, Bettie,” said Mr. Black, “ I’ll show 
you how to cast your hook — Phew ! Here’s a 


254 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

fish for you already — ^must have been ready 
for breakfast ! 

Sure enough, a wriggling, silvery trout dan- 
gled from Mr. Black’s pole. 

‘‘ There’s something running away with my 
line,” complained inexperienced Jean, a little 
frightened by this uncanny sensation. “ It 
feels as big as a rabbit ! ” 

Pull it in,” commanded Mr. Black, 
you’ve got a bite.” 

So she had, but the fish that had felt ‘‘ as 
big as a rabbit ” proved so tiny that Mr. Black 
put him back to grow; and the apparently un- 
concerned little trout made a dart for Mar- 
jory’s hook. He seemed so determined to be 
caught by somebody — it didn’t matter who — 
that Dave dug a little pool in the sand for him. 

‘‘ Stay dere,” ordered Dave, “ till dose beeg 
brodder of you ees have som’ chance for got 
caught.” 

I don’t think I want to fish,” said tender- 
hearted Jean. “ I’d rather look. Every time 
I take a step I see a new picture — I’d like to 
keep all my eyes for the scenery.” 


A Captured Fisherman 255 

“ So would I,” declared Bettie, pulling in 
her line. ‘‘ Let’s just dawdle along together 
somewhere out of reach of Mabel’s hook — 
Goodness ! Look at Henrietta putting on her 
own bait ! ” 

‘‘ I did it, too,” bragged Marjory. “ I 
couldn’t wait for Dave — it’s such fun to see 
a trout dart out from under the bank and 
grab your worm and run away with it.” 

You must give a little jerk,” instructed Mr. 
Black. “ Just like that.” 

“Just like this,” added Mabel. But Mabel’s 
fish proved to be a log, so amid much laughter, 
Dave provided her with a fresh hook. 

For several wonderful hours, the happy 
castaways waded and fished. Never in all their 
wanderings had they encountered anything as 
beautiful as the overhanging trees, the fern- 
fringed banks, the softly gurgling water. And 
never had fish seemed more willing to bite. 
Even Dave was surprised at their voracity. 
In spite of Mrs. Crane’s heavy floundering, 
in spite of the number of times that Mabel 
slipped from slimy stones to land “ kersplash ” 


256 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

on her sturdy back, in spite of the delighted 
shrieks that came from Marjory and Henri- 
etta at every bite, the hungry fish flocked to 
the feast of angleworms. 

“ Dose worms she’s taste lak’ pie to dose 
feesh,” explained Dave. 

I’d like it better,” grumbled Mabel, whose 
hook was continually catching in the trees, “ if 
there wasn’t so much underbrush overhead.” 

‘‘ That’s certainly a queer place,” laughed 
Billy, stringing his eleventh trout on the 
branch provided by Dave, ‘‘ for underbrush. 
Here, I’ll pull it out for you.” 

The wonderfully happy morning passed all 
too quickly — there should be some way of pro- 
longing summer mornings in a trout stream. 
They had eaten their wholesome lunch, and 
Mr. Black, his fine dark eyes aglow with eager- 
ness, his thick, almost-white hair standing up 
all over his head, had fished in a dozen per- 
fectly marvelous holes that Dave had pointed 
out, when the castaways reached in their wan- 
derings a point crossed by a broken-down 
bridge. One end was still in place; the other 



Seated on the dry end was a stout, placid man 



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A Captured Fisherman 257 

sagged until it was partly submerged. Seated 
on the dry end of this flimsy structure, fish- 
pole in hand, was a stout, placid man, whose 
mild, serene blue eyes invited confidence. 

Sociable Mr. Black, still aglow with the joy 
of his unusual luck and glad of a chance to 
display his splendid catch, proudly disclosed 
the contents of his basket — also of the basket 
that Dave carried. 

Billy, too, and the girls flocked nearer to 
display their respective catches. It was cer- 
tainly a fine showing. Mr. Black, however, 
had the lion’s share. 

‘‘ How many did you say ? ” drawled the 
comfortable stranger, seemingly only mildly in- 
terested in the count. His apparent indiffer- 
ence, indeed, proved quite galling to Mr. Black, 
who had introduced himself and his party. 

‘‘ Seventy-two for mine,” beamed Mr. 
Black. For once we’ll have all the trout we 
can eat.^’ 

‘‘Well, Mr. Black,” returned the man, in 
his leisurely, indifferent way, “ I’m sorry for 
you; but I guess you’ll have to ride to Lake- 


258 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

ville in my buckboard to-night. I’m the game 
warden; and fifty fish is the limit.” 

“ The game warden ! ” gasped Mabel. 

“ The game warden ! ” gasped Henrietta. 

“ The game warden ! ” gasped all the others. 

“ The penalty,” drawled the leisurely officer, 
'' is either imprisonment or a fine — seein’ it’s 
you, you’ll probably have to pay a fine.” 

“ I will/ ” exclaimed Mr. Black. “ What’s 
that about a limit? I didn’t know ” 

“New law,” explained the man, lazily. 
“ And some of these here trout that your kids 
have caught are undersized; they ain’t seven 
inches — ’nother new law; you’ll have to pay 
for those, too.” 

“ Why, the limit is six inches.” 

“ Used to be, ain’t any more,” returned the 
placid person, fumbling in his pocket for a 
battered copy of the game laws. “ See, here’s 
what it says.” 

“ I guess you’re right,” admitted Mr. Black, 
scanning the pages. 

“ I’m real sorry,” stated the game warden 
for the second time. “ But you see, Mr. Black, 


A Captured Fisherman 259 

I’ve got to arrest somebody this week or they’ll 
think I’m not earning my salary. And I guess 
you can stand it lots better’n some.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Black, ‘‘ I certainly sup- 
posed I was a law-abiding citizen; but I’m 
willing to pay the piper — it isn’t often that I 
dance to such a merry tune. Those fish are 
worth any fine that I shall have to pay. I’ll 
go down with you to-night if you’ll tell me 
where to meet you; but I’m going to eat my 
share of those fish first — I assure you of that ! ” 

Mabel, who had edged closer to the game 
warden, now relieved her mind. 

“ Say,” she queried, “ you won’t put him in 
jail, will you?” 

Not if he’s able to pay his fine,” smiled 
the stout officer. 

“ Where,” she next demanded, severely, 
are your leggings ? ” 

“ Leggings ! ” exclaimed the puzzled man. 
“ Why ! They don’t make any big enough to 
go round my fatted calves.” 

“ I don’t believe you are the game warden,” 
declared Mabel. “ You’re just pretending.” 


26o The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

The complacent officer, however, proved his 
right to the title by showing certain documents 
to Mr. Black. But, as Mabel leaned closer to 
inspect them, too, her weight upon the rotten 
log on which the bulky game warden sat 
proved too much for the time-worn timber. 
Down it crashed, taking Mabel and the aston- 
ished officer with it. 

Fortunately, the water at this point was suf- 
ficiently deep to break their fall, for the river 
bottom near the bridge was of solid sandstone, 
and therefore pretty hard. Dave plunged in 
after Mabel, but permitted the gasping game 
warden to flounder out by himself. By way 
of atonement, Mr. Black invited the victim 
to supper and later loaned him some dry cloth- 
ing. After this accident, the campers, some- 
what subdued but fully alive to the wonderful 
charm of the day, proceeded toward home. It 
was five o’clock when the castaways, hungry 
but otherwise none the worse for their long 
day in the river, finally reached Pete’s Patch; 
for the point in the pretty stream that was 
only three-quarters of a mile away by land 


A Captured Fisherman 261 

was almost a day’s journey by water, owing 
to the numerous twists and turns of the wind- 
ing river that was so like Dave’s queer con- 
science. 

“ Say, M’sieu Black,” said Dave, lingering 
after the others had turned toward camp, and 
speaking in a dreadful whisper very close to 
Mr. Black’s ear. ‘‘ Ah’m good frien’ to you. 
Eet ees ver’ bad, Ah’m tole (here Dave’s black 
eye glittered humorously), to broke dose game 
law; but eef you ees weesh for hide you’self, 
me, Ah’m show you som’ pooty good plass. 
Dose game ward’ hunt for feefty year biffore 
she ees fin’ dose ol’* Pete Black. Hey, Pete.? 
You lak for hide on yourself? ” 

“ Thank you, Dave,” returned Mr. Black, 
but I guess Pd better take my medicine like 
a man — a man doesn’t hide.” 

His first plan failing, Dave kindly offered 
to set the game warden hopelessly astray, to 
steal his horse, and finally, as a last resort, 
to murder the unsuspecting officer in a variety 
of ingenious ways. But Mr. Black declined 
all these kindly offers and finally convinced 


262 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Dave that he didn’t mind going to Lakeville, 
with a good fish supper inside of him. 

The castaways found Mr. Saunders in pos- 
session of the camp at Pete’s Patch. He had 
whittled a shingle doll for Rosa Marie, who 
sat in rapt devotion at his feet. 

She hasn’t taken her eyes off me since I 
arrived, three hours ago,” declared Saunders, 
rising to hand some papers to Mr. Black. 
“ She’s immensely taken with either my auburn 
hair or my new tan shoes — I don’t know which. 
I didn’t know, Mr. Black, what you wanted 
done about this insurance matter, so I brought 
the letters to you.” 

Mighty glad to see you,” returned Mr. 
Black, “ for I’m going to town to-night. 
You’ll have to stay here till I get back and be 
a father to my family. I’m under arrest for 
breaking the game laws — but wait till you see 
what I broke ’em with. Those fish ” 

‘‘Any news from Pittsburg?” interrupted 
Mrs. Crane. 

“ Not a word. But I’ve brought letters for 
all those girls. Their mothers, aunts, and so 


A Captured Fisherman 263 

forth want to know how they’re going to get 
them ready to go away to school next fall if 
you keep them in the woods all summer. They 
want to make clothes for them.” 

“ It isn’t polite,” giggled lively Henrietta, 
to answer letters the moment you get them. 
And anyhow, who wants clothes ? ” 

‘‘ There’s just one thing that we do want,” 
said Mrs. Crane, and that’s news for our 
Billy-boy. He’s so uneasy that he can’t rest. 
In fact, we’re all uneasy — in a state of sus- 
pense ” 

“ Well,” returned Mr. Black, “ worrying 
won’t hurry matters, so you’d better amuse 
yourselves with other things — perhaps Saun- 
ders will help.” 

Saunders did help; nevertheless, it was hard 
to wait; for by this time Laddie-Billy was 
quite certain that he was a friendless waif, a 
homeless orphan, or, at best, a hopelessly lost 
youngster with only half a mind. 

‘‘ I’d rather be dead,” mourned Billy, bit- 
terly, than a blithering idiot.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


irn 3fafrelanD 

JYJR* black, hearing nothing from Billy’s 
people and knowing that Saunders was 
an able guard for his precious family, re- 
mained away for three days; for he found a 
number of matters in Lakeville that claimed his 
attention. He paid his fine cheerfully, and de- 
clared ever afterwards that the day’s sport 
was worth all that it had cost him. 

Mr. Saunders proved a most delightful com- 
panion, in spite of his misfit clothing; for the 
tall, slender young man had borrowed stout 
Mr. Black’s camping costume. Wherever he 
went he was followed by devoted Billy and 
the no less devoted girls. Dave liked him, too. 
Even Rosa Marie waddled at his heels and 
grunted happily when he condescended to pat 
her black head or her fat brown hands. It 
may have been his undeniably red hair that 
charmed Rosa Marie, but it was his voice that 
pleased the girls; for he proved a decidedly 

264 


In Fairyland 265 

eloquent person. He told them the most won- 
derful of fairy tales, recited miles and miles 
of nonsense rhymes and several yards, as Bet- 
tie said, of real poetry. 

But the fairy tales pleased them most be- 
cause there were so many spots near Pete’s 
Patch that seemed just like little bits of Fairy- 
land ; and sometimes Saunders’ tales were clev- 
erly fitted to these suitable surroundings. Be- 
fore the three days were over, the girls were 
living in a veritable land of enchantment and 
went about with such dreamy eyes that Mrs. 
Crane was certain that they were all bewitched. 

On the last forenoon of the useful young 
man’s visit, Mabel, pursuing a startled brown 
rabbit, happened to stumble into the very heart 
of Fairyland. The rabbit led her out of Pete’s 
Patch, through thicket and marsh, to an unsus- 
pected bayou — a little bay that had once been 
part of the lively river but was now merely 
a quiet pond. Mabel found herself on the 
very muddy edge of a wide circular basin that 
was bigger than it looked. The banks were 
a tangled, seemingly impenetrable mass of 


266 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

green foliage, showing occasionally the vivid 
pink of a late wild rose or the dazzling white 
of Queen Anne’s lace and meadow-sweet. 
More inviting than all were quantities of 
strange water flowers of shining white that 
spangled the glinting surface of the pond. 
These were new to Mabel and all hers for the 
gathering. 

“ Oh ! ” gasped the little girl, quite overcome 
with the surprising beauty of this hitherto 
undiscovered treasure, ‘‘ I guess I’ve found the 
Witch’s Pool where the pale Princess was 
turned into a — Oh! I must get those flowers 
for Mrs. Crane; she’d love ’em.” 

A long, partly submerged log extended to- 
ward the center of the pond. Mabel very cau- 
tiously at first, then with more confidence, 
trusted her weight to this. If she could reach 
just one of those elusive flowers^ 

Suddenly there was a horrible ‘‘ giving way ” 
under her feet. She clutched wildly at unsub- 
stantial air; there was a wild shriek followed 
by a violent splash. Millions of golden bub- 
bles floated to the surface. 


In Fairyland 267 

For a long moment that was all that the 
brown rabbit, safe among the ferns, could see. 
Then, a dozen feet away from the broken 
log, a queer green object, a most unpleasant- 
looking object, caught at the slimy branches of 
a water-logged, barkless tree that had stood 
in the pool for goodness only knows how many 
years; and, freeing one wet hand, wiped a 
veil of emerald slime from its mouth and eyes. 
The green object was Mabel; and tumbling 
right into Fairyland was not an entirely pleas- 
ant process. 

Fortunately, a few short stumps of branches 
still remained firmly attached to the upright 
trunk. The plump “ Princess ” was able, hap- 
pily, to find a firm foothold on one of these. 
Then, with her knees under water, her arms 
clasped about the slippery tree trunk, she stood 
more or less securely anchored in the treacher- 
ous pool, looking not unlike a green marble 
statue in the center of a fountain. Fortunately 
the water was not at all cold. Fortunately, too, 
it harbored none of the horrible things that 
Mabel imagined might be lurking beneath its 


268 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

verdant surface. It was because of her fear 
of possible — or rather impossible — alligators, 
snakes, and hippopotami that the little girl’s 
voice proved unusually feeble when she at- 
tempted to shout for the help that she so sorely 
needed. At any rate, no one responded. 

Although the wonderfully tinted bayou was 
a lovely spot to look at, with its green and 
golden browns in the sunlight, its deep sepia 
tones in the shadows, and its marvelous re- 
flections of objects along the edge, poor Mabel 
found it hard to be compelled to gaze at it 
for so long a time. After the first half-hour, 
even with blue king-fishers and many-hued 
dragon-flies darting down after water bugs, or 
lightly skimming the jeweled surface, it seemed 
a lonely place. As for the frostlike blossoms 
that had lured her into the pool Mabel no 
longer admired them; and she hated the brown 
rabbit. 

When noon arrived without bringing always 
hungry Mabel back to Pete’s Patch — never be- 
fore had she missed a meal — the other camp- 
ers began to grow alarmed. By two o’clock 


In Fairyland 269 

the entire camp was scouring forest, lakeshore, 
and river banks for Mabel or traces of Mabel. 
Mr. Saunders had even loaded Mr. Black’s gun 
and was firing it, at intervals, thus providing 
Mabel with a new cause for alarm, since she 
didn’t know that the gun was pointed toward 
the open lake. Laddie was searching the rocks 
at Barclay’s Point, Jean and Henrietta were 
examining the roads that Mabel sometimes ex- 
plored for mushrooms, Dave and Marjory were 
following all the more or less familiar trails. 

‘‘ She’s fallen in, somewhere,” declared Mrs. 
Crane, pale with anxiety, “ and is drowned. 
Nothing else would have kept her away from 
lunch.” 

‘‘ And she can’t get near water without fall- 
ing in,” agreed Bettie. “ But, so far, she’s 
always gotten out again.” 

Sometimes the hateful brown rabbit, safe on 
dry land, bobbed up to look at Mabel. Some- 
times a saucy squirrel ran along an overhang- 
ing branch to scold loudly at the little girl. 
Once a big mud-hen waded into sight, then, 
suddenly discovering the discouraged Prin- 


270 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

cess,” fled with an alarmed — and alarming 
squawk. 

“ I suppose,” groaned Mabel, ‘‘ Pm missing 
a million things. Most likely Mr. Black is 
back with splendid news for Billy — Pm sure 
he’ll turn out to be somebody perfectly grand, 
like a young duke or the only son of a mayor. 
Or Mr. Saunders is telling that loveliest-of-all 
fairy tale that he promised to save for the 
very last. And I know they’ll eat every crumb 
of those splendid huckleberry pies that Mrs. 
Crane was making when I left camp. And, 
oh! What’ll I do when it gets dark?” 

But Mabel, happily, was spared this last 
horror. At three o’clock Mahjigeezigoqua, 
Rosa Marie’s really beautiful mother, parted 
the branches that fringed the pool and peered 
at the strange object upright in the water. 

“ Oh ! ” cried weary Mabel, in sudden ex- 
citement, “ do come and get me — a rope, a 
boat, anything ” 

‘‘Can you hoi’ on som’ more?” demanded 
the young woman, testing the ground with a 
cautious foot. 




In Fairyland 

271 


Yes, yes,” cried Mabel, almost letting go 
in her joy. “ Only please save me soon — I’m 
awfully tired of this place — I’ve been here for 
years.'' 

“ Ah’ll breeng ma brodder,” promised the 
dusky beauty, slipping noiselessly away. 

It seemed another year before Dave finally 
came, bounding like a deer through the thicket, 
with his sister at his heels. Dave plunged in 
— he had learned by this time exactly how to 
rescue Mabel from all sorts of watery graves 
— and soon that relieved young person was safe 
on some very black, oozy mud that, ordinarily, 
wouldn’t have seemed so pleasant underfoot. 

There was great rejoicing when this fre- 
quently cast away castaway, still well be- 
smeared with green slime, was escorted by 
Dave and his pretty sister to Pete’s Patch. 

Geeve her som’ bat’ hon de lake,” advised 
Dave, before disappearing in search of certain 
herbs for which he had found a use. 

Mrs. Crane, feeling that Mabel had been suf- 
ficiently punished for her thoughtlessness with- 
out being scolded, hastily prepared a hot meal 


272 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

— after all, she had saved Mabel’s share of the 
pie. Then, while Mrs. Crane was setting a 
place for her, the culprit, escorted to the lake 
by Jean and Henrietta, was thoroughly 
scrubbed, rubbed dry, and hustled into clean 
clothing. 

‘‘ Hurry ! ” cried Mrs. Crane, “ or the stew 
will get cold again.” 

Just as Mabel was opening her mouth for 
the first delicious bite, a brown, sinewy hand 
deftly placed a dingy tin cup at her lips, her 
head was unexpectedly twitched backward, and 
before Mabel could realize what was happen- 
ing, Dave had poured a generous dose of his 
evil-smelling herb tea down her unresisting 
throat. 

“ Ah’m learn dose good trick off ma gran’- 
modder,” explained Dave, evidently much 
elated at his success. “ Ma gran’modder ver’ 
smart ol’ squaw.” 

I wish,” choked Mabel, crimson with in- 
dignation, ‘‘your horrid old grandmother ’d 
never been horn” 

“ Som’ tarn’,” smiled Dave, sympathetically. 




In Fairyland 

273 


“ Ah'm used for weesh dat, too. But dose 
medicine ees ver’ good — mak’ you feel all bully 
hon top your inside, bam-bye. Maybe you lak’ 
som’ more, hey ? ” 

“You go home!’’ snapped Mabel. “I’ll 
taste that stuff for a year” 

Dave chuckled as he slipped away. And, 
however dreadful it looked and smelled and 
tasted, the medicine at any rate did no harm; 
for Mabel awoke next morning none the worse 
for either the prolonged soaking, Dave’s un- 
palatable remedy, or even an unusually large 
portion of Mrs. Crane’s famous pie. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


B meitot for XaODic 

'J^HE campers had barely finished breakfast 
when Captain Berry’s launch chug- 
chugged into the little harbor; and the girls, 
still at the table, were laughing so heartily over 
one of Mr. Saunders’ amusing tales that they 
had no suspicion of the launch’s presence, at 
that unusual hour, until Mr. Black’s hearty 
“ Hi there, folks ! Isn’t anybody up ? made 
them all jump. 

“ Oh,” breathed Mabel, evidently much re- 
lieved. “ They didn’t put him in prison, after 
all.” 

“ I guess I’d better be getting into my own 
clothes,” said Saunders. ‘‘ I’ll be going back 
with Captain Berry, I suppose. I’d much 
rather stay.” 

There’s no need for you to hurry,” re- 
turned Mrs. Crane. Captain Berry always 
stops for quite awhile; so finish your break- 
fast in peace.” 


274 




A Visitor for Laddie 

27S 


Mr. Black, now plainly visible from the open 
door of the dining tent, was coming up the 
path from the beach. Behind him walked an- 
other person — a small woman in widow’s garb. 
Her thin, white face wore an anxious, strained 
expression; her blue eyes beamed with eager 
expectancy, her hands twitched. 

As the pair approached all the campers re- 
garded them wonderingly. Suddenly Billy’s 
cup dropped with a crash. In another moment 
he had leaped over the bench and was racing 
down the pathway. 

‘"Mother!” he cried. “Mother! It’s my 
mother ! ” 

The little woman, laughing and crying to- 
gether, was seized by this big whirlwind of a 
boy and hugged until she gasped for mercy. 

“ Oh, Laddie Lombard ! ” she cried. “ I — 
I’m so glad — Oh, do let me cry just a minute! 
I thought — oh. Laddie! ” 

Saunders, with a delicacy that still further 
endeared him to the adoring girls, silently 
reached forth a long arm and dropped the tent 
flap. Mr. Black, his kindly face beaming with 


276 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

sympathy, pushed his way in; Laddie, rather 
close to tears himself, led his weeping mother 
to a bench under the trees. 

Her name,” explained Mr. Black, seating 
himself at the breakfast table between Bettie 
and Jean, is Mrs. Tracy Lombard. She 
wasn’t in Pittsburg; but a friend of hers saw 
the notice in the paper and telegraphed her, 
and she came as fast as she could.” 

“ Of course she did,” breathed Mrs. Crane. 

But how did the boy ” 

Billy — Laddie, I mean — wasn’t well this 
spring. It happened that he was coming down 
with typhoid; but his mother didn’t know that 
— thought it was overwork in school. Hoping 
to benefit him by a change of climate, Mrs. 
Lombard, always rather fussy, I imagine, over 
this one precious infant, started West with 
him, over the Canadian Pacific route. She had 
relatives in Seattle or Portland — I’ve forgotten 
which. But that part of it doesn’t matter. 

“ The second day after leaving Pittsburg, 
Laddie became so alarmingly ill that Mrs. 
Lombard was glad to accept the invitation of 





“Mother!” he cried 


“Mother! It’s my mother!” 



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A Visitor for Laddie 277 

a fellow-traveler, a motherly, middle-aged 
woman, who lived in a small village on the 
north shore of Lake Superior/’ 

“ In Canada? ” queried Marjory. 

Yes,” returned Mr. Black. In, as nearly 
as I could make out from Mrs. Lombard’s de- 
scription, a very quiet little place across the 
lake from Pete’s Patch, if not exactly opposite. 
But so far away that one wouldn’t expect small 
boats to make the journey. In that village, 
however. Laddie was seriously ill; because, by 
this time, he had pneumonia in addition to 
typhoid. For weeks he was a very sick boy. 
Then, when he began to mend, his mother 
found it difficult to hold him down, headstrong 
little rascal that he was, with no father to con- 
trol him — his father died when Laddie was 
two years old, and I guess the boy has had 
his own way most of the time.” 

He isn’t a bit spoiled,” defended Mrs. 
Crane. ''But go on with your story.” 

" Long before he was well enough to walk 
he was begging to be taken on the water — he 
was always crazy about the water, his mother 


278 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

says; perhaps because most of his ancestors 
were sailors. On pleasant days — our spring 
was unusually mild, you remember — they al- 
lowed him to sit on the sunny veranda of Mrs. 
Brown’s cottage, from which the lake, only 
two hundred feet distant, was plainly visible. 
At first they merely rolled him up in a blanket; 
but for the last three days of his sojourn in 
that place he had worn his clothes, shoes and 
all, since it galled his proud young spirit to 
be considered an invalid in the sight of the 
villagers. 

‘‘ One day, during the half-hour or so that 
Mrs. Lombard was busy changing her dress, 
straightening her son’s room, and so forth. 
Laddie disappeared.” 

‘‘Before he could walk?” demanded Mrs. 
Crane. 

“ No, he was able to go from room to room 
by that time. You’ve noticed, haven’t you, 
how quickly he recovers, once he is started? 
Well, as soon as he was better he disap- 
peared.” 

“Where did he go?” asked Bettie. The 


A Visitor for Laddie 279 

girls, of course, were all nearly breathless with 
interest — no tale told by Saunders had held 
them so closely. 

“ Nobody knows,” returned Mr. Black. 

Probably nobody ever will know precisely 
what happened. However, there was a sociable 
half-breed fisherman, sort of a half-witted 
chap, who had leaned over the fence almost 
daily to talk to the boy. The theory is that 
he asked Laddie to go out in his boat. The 
landing was only a short distance away and 
almost directly in front of Mrs. Brown’s house; 
but, owing to jutting rocks at the east side of 
the little bay, one could easily embark and 
very speedily get entirely out of sight of any 
of the houses. Now, the chances are that 
Laddie, or any other boy, invited by Indian 
Charlie to go out for a brief sail, would have 
considered it rather smart to accept the invita- 
tion. Would have thought it a good joke on 
his mother, perhaps — the best of boys make 
such mistakes, sometimes. 

Anyway, Laddie disappeared, and several 
days later Indian Charlie was found drowned 


280 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

near a rocky point several miles from the wil- 
lage; pieces of timber that might have been 
part of his boat were picked up after the 
storm — that same storm that brought Laddie 
to us. Moreover, another fisherman remem- 
bered noticing a boy with very bright hair in 
Charlie’s boat, which he happened to pass that 
afternoon a mile or two down the shore. The 
wind was pretty fresh that day, and by night 
it was blowing a gale. 

Mrs. Lombard was forced to conclude, 
when no further word was heard of Laddie, 
that her boy had shared poor Charlie’s fate — 
several far more seaworthy boats were wrecked 
that night and more than one unfortunate 
sailor lost his life. But Mrs. Lombard is now 
blaming herself for giving up hope so easily, 
though she did offer a reward, through the 
Canadian papers, for the finding of Laddie’s 
body; and afterwards the Canadian shore was 
searched quite thoroughly. It didn’t occur to 
anybody that Laddie, probably lashed to the 
mast by Indian Charlie, probably ill again and 
possibly delirious, as a result of exposure to 




A Visitor for Laddie 

281 


wind and waves, could have been carried across 
Lake Superior in so frail a craft as that poor 
half-breed’s boat. But the wind was in the 
right direction. How long the boat held to- 
gether we shall never know. 

“ Mrs. Lombard learned afterwards that In- 
dian Charlie was considered far too reckless in 
his handling of sailboats, and that he hadn’t 
any better judgment than to take a sick boy 
out to sea if the boy showed the faintest in- 
clination to go — and you know how wild that 
Billy-boy is about the water. Bless me, Sarah ! 
That poor woman wouldn’t wait for any break- 
fast ” 

I’ll make some fresh coffee this minute,” 
said Mrs. Crane, ‘‘ but do save the rest of the 
story until I get back.” 

“ There isn’t any more,” returned Mr. Black, 
taking a drink of water, except that Mrs. 
Lombard reached town at four o’clock this 
morning, routed me out at half-past — the ad- 
vertisement read ' apply to Peter Black ’ — and 
we came here as fast as gasoline could bring 
us.” 


282 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

“ Then you didn’t have any breakfast, 
either,” guessed Mrs. Crane, shrewdly. 

I suspect I didn’t,” admitted Mr. Black. 
And then Laddie Billy Blue-eyes, otherwise 
William Tracy Lombard, introduced his pretty 
little blond mother to all the campers. 

‘‘ I’m remembering things so fast,” said he, 
“ that it makes me dizzy. Mother seems to 
be the missing link that connects me with Pitts- 
burg and everything else. You know I always 
said that Dave reminded me of somebody? 
Well, when mother spoke of Indian Charlie, I 
knew. For a moment I could feel a boat heave 
up and down; and in a flash I saw a dark face 
something like Dave’s, and some rather long, 
very black hair, also like Dave’s. I could see 
the face two ways. Once it was laughing, over 
a fence top. Then it was all twisted up with 
fright — bending over me and scared blue. And 
while the face looked like that, there were 

hands fumbling about my waist ” 

‘‘As if,” queried Bettie, “somebody were 

tying a life-preserver ” 

“ Yes, yes,” declared Laddie. “ And that 




A Visitor for Laddie 

283 


dreadful face said things in a dreadful voice; 
but I couldn’t hear — everything whirled and 
roared. Sometimes there was a horrible going- 
down feeling. Perhaps, after all, I just 
dreamed all that, but — but I think it hap- 
pened.” 

“ And you don’t remember getting into any 
boat ? ” asked Mrs. Lombard. 

No, I don’t,” replied Laddie, whose always 
responsive eyes twinkled suddenly. But if 
it were poor Charlie’s fault, it wouldn’t be po- 
lite to remember; if it were mine. I’d rather 
forget it ; but I really don’t remember one thing 
about those days in Canada, except that face 
like Dave’s.” 

No wonder,” said Mrs. Lombard. “ You 
were delirious when we took you off the train 
and so hazy when you were sitting up that you 
didn’t know whether you were in Oregon or 
Pittsburg. You’d been terribly sick. The doc- 
tor said that your splendid constitution was 
all that saved you. And to think that you 
survived that storm ” 

Pooh ! ” scoffed Billy, “ that boat probably 


284 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

lasted till I was tossed up on this shore. And 
anyhow, a bath does a fellow good. See how 
husky Mabel is — she’s forever taking ’em. 
Say! That girl would fall into an ink bottle, 
if you left it uncorked — she just naturally 
tumbles into things.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


:fiSrea{tind Camp 

“ ^^IRLS,” said Mr. Black, when he had 
finished his delayed breakfast, ‘‘ I have 
a very sorrowful confession to make. I’ve got 
to lose you.” 

“ Oh, no” protested Mrs. Crane, ‘‘ not so 
soon.” 

‘‘ I don’t like it myself, Sarah, but all those 
mothers, grandmothers, and Aunty Janes came 
and sat around my office and reminded me that 
their precious girls were all going away to 
school, told me that the school was almost 
picked out — they’ve narrowed down to four — 
and dragged from me a promise that I just 
hated to make. As far as I can discover, 
they’ve bought all the cloth in Lakeville, en- 
gaged all the dressmakers, and are in a fever 
to try things on. And I promised ” 

^‘To send us all home?” guessed Bettie. 

“ Yes. A lot of men are coming this after- 
noon with a tug and a big flat scow to take 
285 


286 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

the Whale home — I suspect she’ll have to go 
to the factory for repairs. There’ll be room 
on the scow for us and all our belongings be- 
sides. But cheer up. We won’t need to start 
until along toward night.” 

So this is our last day,” mourned Jean. 

Dear me,” sighed Bettie, “ we’ll never have 
so splendid a time again.” 

We’ll come again next summer,” promised 
Mr. Black, unless you get so young-ladyfied 
at your boarding school that you won’t want 
to camp.” 

You just wait and see,” said Marjory. 

No danger,” declared Henrietta. 

“ But,” mourned Mabel, we won’t have 
any Billy Blue-eyes.” 

“ Perhaps I’ll get wrecked again,” consoled 
Laddie, and you can pick me up some more. 
But you’ll forget all about me before next 
summer.” 

“ I will not,” contradicted Mabel. ‘‘ I’m go- 
ing to write to you.” 

‘‘That’s good,” declared Laddie; “let’s all 
write to each other.” 


Breaking Camp 287 

‘‘ Mrs. Lombard/' offered Bettie, rather 
shyly, ‘‘weVe always wondered who Laddie 
would turn out to be. When he asked for a 
toothbrush we were quite sure that he was 
a young duke, or a prince, or — or " 

“ No," laughed Mrs. Lombard, ‘‘ he isn't 
even a youthful millionaire. He's just a plain 
boy. We have enough to live on, to be sure; 
but after awhile Billy will have to work like 
any other man for his living. I hope you're 
not disappointed." 

“ No," said Mabel, magnanimously, “ we'd 
like him, just the same, even if he were just 
a coal-heaver." 

That last day was spent in visiting all the 
spots that were dear to the young campers and 
in showing many of them to Mrs. Lombard, 
who proved a very pleasant little woman, even 
if she did cling rather tightly to Laddie when 
he suggested going out in the boat for a pail 
of water. 

Well," laughed Billy, “ I can just as easily 
walk out, if you consider that safer; but it's 
rather drier to go by boat." 


288 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Dave, of course, had to hear all about Billy 
Blue-eyes’ experience. 

Ah’m have som’ brudder Charlie wan 
tarn’,” remarked Dave, thoughtfully. Ah’m 
scare for go out on som‘ boat wit’ dose fellow 
maself, w’en Ah’m leeve hon Canadaw.” 

“ Do you think he was your brother ? ” pur- 
sued Laddie. 

“ Ah don’t know,” returned Dave, who evi- 
dently was not greatly concerned by the news 
of a possible relative’s death. “ Me, Ah’m got 
eight-nine brodder som’ plass. Not moch good 
hon herself, dose brodder, hey ? ” 

But when Dave learned that the campers 
were about to depart for Lakeville he was far 
more distressed. 

“ Me, Ah’m find eet lonesom’ widout dose 
Jean, dose Margy, dose Mabelle, dose petite 
Bet^^^, dose good Mees Crane, dose good Pete 
Black, dose fine ^Wlee — maybe dose good din- 
naire, too.” 

Even numerous gifts of food, clothing, and 
cooking utensils; even the bestowal of Terrible 
Tim and Anthony Fitz-Hubert (the kitten was 


Breaking Camp 289 

now so wild that only the half-breed could 
catch him) did not serve to raise Dave’s droop- 
ing spirits. Although he assisted in breaking 
camp, it was easy to see that he hated the task. 
He sighed heavily as each tent fell. 

The campers, already looking far ahead, as 
happy children always do, toward new scenes 
and new experiences, trooped merrily aboard 
the big scow just at sunset that evening, eager 
for the picnic supper that was to be eaten on 
the deck of the safe, clumsy craft; eager, too, 
though they did not realize it, for a sight of 
home. 

The evening was peaceful, the pale lake calm 
and softly tinted like a big shining opal. The 
homeward trip, with so much to relate at the 
end of it to the dear home people, promised so 
much enjoyment that no actual tears were shed 
as the tug began slowly to move her heavy 
burden seaward. Still, the backward glances 
were sufficiently regretful; for Pete’s Patch 
was not a spot to be lightly deserted, and never 
had the place seemed more beautiful than it 
appeared now from the slowly departing boat. 


290 The Castaways of Pete’s Patch 

Dave stood alone on the bank, for his sister 
was already eagerly examining the ample store 
of provisions left for their use. For as long 
as they could see him, the girls waved to the 
solitary watcher. But long after that Dave 
strained his eyes after the boat that was carry- 
ing away the dearest friends that he had ever 
known. 

“ Ah’m lak’ dose peop’,” said Dave, with a 
catch in his throat, as he turned away at last. 
“ Ver’ moch, Ah’m lak’ dose good peop’. Me, 
Ah’m good frien’ to hall dose; until Ah’m go 
for die hon maself.” 

At nine o’clock that night the castaways 
landed safely in Lakeville, and the picnic that 
had lasted for weeks instead of hours and 
proved so much more than a mere picnic was 
at an end. 


THE END 



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By CARROLL WATSON RANKIN 


STORIES FOR GIRLS 

THE CASTAWAYS OF PETE'S PATCH 

Illustrated by Ada C. Williamson. $1.25 net. (Just pub- 
lished.) 

A tale of five girls and two youthful grown-ups who enjoyed 
unpremeditated camping; of a picturesque Indian who sells 
his home in order to live in it; of a mysteriously shipwrecked 
boy who is unable to tell whence he came ; of Mabel, who 
tumbled into all the water there was, and of Mabel’s friends, 
who sometimes tumbled in with her; of broken game laws, of 
a baffled game-warden who proved to be somebody else; and 
of many other things that might have happened on the rugged 
shores of Lake Superior. 

DANDELION COTTAGE 

Illustrated by Mmes. Shinn and Finley. $1.50. 

Four young girls secure the use of a tumbledown cottage. 
They set up housekeeping under numerous disadvantages, 
and have many amusements and queer experiences. 

“A capital story. It is refreshing to come upon an author who can 
tell us about real little girls, with sensible ordinary parents, girls who 
are neither phenomenal nor silly.” — Outlook. 

THE ADOPTING OF ROSA MARIE 

A sequel to “ Dandelion Cottage.” Illustrated by Mrs. Shinn. 
$1.50. 

The little girls, who played at keeping house in the earlier 
book, enlarge their activities to the extent of playing mother 
to a little Indian girl. 

“Those who have read ‘ Dandelion Cottage’ will need no urging to 
follow further. ... A lovable group of four real children, happily not 
perfect, but full of girlish plans and pranks. ... A delightful sense 
of yxoLmor''— Boston Transcript. 

THE GIRLS OF GARDENVILLE 

Illustrated by Mary Wellman. i2mo. $1.50. 

Interesting, amusing, and natural stories of a girls’ club— 
“ The Sweet Sixteen” of Gardenville. 

“Will captivate as many adults as if it were written for them. . . . 
The secret of Mrs. Rankin’s charm is her naturalness . . . real girls 
. . . not young ladies with ‘ pigtails,’ but girls of sixteen who are not 
twenty-five ... as original as av[\ns.mg.'’—Bostoit Transcript. 


HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

34 West 330 Street NEW YORK 


STORIES OF FAMILY LIFE 

By AUCE CALHOUN HAINES 

For Young Folks from 9 to 16 years old 


THE LUCK OF THE DUDLEY GRAHAMS 

Illustrated by Francis Day. 300 pp., i2mo. $1.50. 

A family story of city life. Lightened by humor 
and an airship. 

“ Among the very best of books for young folks. 
Appeals especially to girls.” — Wisconsin List for Town- 
ship Libraries. 

“ Promises to be perennially popular. A family of 
happy, healthy, inventive, bright children make the best 
of restricted conditions and prove themselves masters 
of circumstances.” — Christian Register. 

“ By far the most entertaining book for children that 
we have read in many months.” — The Churchman. 

“ Sparkles with cleverness and humor.” — Brooklyn 
Eagle. 

COCK-A-DOODLE HILL 

A sequel to “ The Luck of the Dudley Grahams.” 
Illustrated by Francis Day. 296 pp., i2mo. $1.50. 
(Just issued.) 

“ Cock-a-doodle Hill ” is where the Dudley Graham 
family went to live when they left New York — a 
rambling, open-windowed old white house, set among 
flowery meadows, pine woods, and river land ; and here 
Ernie started her chicken-farm, with one solitary fowl, 
” Hennerietta.” The pictures of country scenes and the 
adventures and experiences of. this household of young 
people are very life-like. It is a home story, sponta- 
neous, abounding in quaint and delicate humor, and 
with an undercurrent of strong dramatic interest. 


If the reader will send his name and address, the publishers will 
send, from time to time, information regarding their new 
books. 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 


By MARY W. PLUMMER 

Director of the Pratt Institute Library School 

For boys and girls from lo to i6 years, with maps and 
illustrations from photographs, national songs with 
music, and index. Large i2mo, each $1.75 net ; by 
mail, $1.90. 

ROY AND RAY IN CANADA 

The volume embodies very much that is interesting 
concerning Canadian history, manners and customs, as 
well as descriptions that describe and pictures that 
really illustrate. 

“ Until the appearance of this book there was really nothing 
to give children in the States a genuine view of life across the 
ttoxd.&xs."— The Journal of Education. 

“This volume, with its fine illustrations and comprehensive 
descriptions, is of much value. Enough narrative and action to 
make it interesting to every Springfield Republican, 

ROY AND RAY IN MEXICO 

A story of Mexican travel for children. Roy and Ray 
Stevens, twins “ going on twelve,” with their parents, 
spend a summer in Mexico. The book tells from the 
children’s standpoint what they see and do, and what 
they learn about Mexico. 

“ Win be welcome to many readers of mature years as well as 
to the juveniles for whom it is primarily written. ... It deserves 
the widest circulation in this country, and no public library can 
afford to be without it."— Boston Transcript. 


STORIES FROM 

THE CHRONICLE OF THE CID 

Illustrated, i2mo, 90 cents net ; by mail, $1.00. 
Presents for young folks a connected narrative of 
strong personal interest and pictures the hero as most 
Spanish children probably know him. Well-chosen 
quotations from Lockhart and attractive illustrations 
are included. 

If the reader will send his name and address the publishers will 
•end, from time to time, information about their new books.’ 

Henry Holt and Company, York** 


COMPANION STORIES OF COUNTRY UFE 
FOR BOYS By CHARLES P. BURTON 


THE BOYS OF BOB’S HILL 

Illustrated by GEORGE A. WILLIAMS. i2mo. $i.2j 

A lively story of a party of boys in a small New Eng- 
land town. 

“ A first-rate juvenile ... a real story for the live human boy 
—any boy will read it eagerly to the end . . . quite thrilling 
ad ventures "—C/tzca^o Record-Herald. 

“ Tom Sawyer would have been a worthy member of the Bob’s 
Hill crowd and shared their good times and thrilling adventures 
with uncommon relish, . . . A jolly group of youngsters as nearly 
true to the real thing in boy nature as one can ever expect to 
find between covers."— Christian Register. 

THE BOB’S CAVE BOYS 

Illustrated by VICTOR PERARD. $1.50 

“ It would be hard to find anything better in the literature of 
New England boy life. Healthy, red-blooded, human boys, full 
of fun, into trouble and out again, but frank, honest, and clean.” 
—The Congregationalist . 

“ Even better than the first book, will interest every healthy 
youngster. ” — Christian Register. 

‘‘ A rousing story of wide-awake youngsters. A very delight- 
ful book. Told with much humor.^— Indianapolis News. 


THE BOB’S HILL BRAVES 

Illustrated by H. S. DeLay. i2mo. $1.50 

The “ Bob’s Hill” band spend a vacation in Illinois, 
where they play at being Indians, hear thrilling tales of 
real Indians, and learn much frontier history. A story 
of especial interest to “ Boy Scouts.” (Just published.) 


If the reader will send his name and address, the publishers 
will send, from time to time, information about their new books. 

Henry Holt and Company 

34 West 33d Street New York 


By JOSEPH B. AMES 

Western stories for boys from 10 to 16 years 

Illustrated by VICTOR PERARD, Each, $1.50 

PETE, COW PUNCHER 

Perhaps“nowhere else can a more faithful picture, ab- 
solutely devoid of straining for glamor, be found of 
the cowboy’s life by one who knows it. Its monotony, 
hardships, and frequent griminess are clearly shown, 
but the spice of adventure and mortal peril is not lack- 
ing, The story is told from the viewpoint of the ten- 
derfoot who becomes a cowboy. 

‘‘Here is the real thing— the cowboy’s daily life faithfully de- 
picted. . . . There is, of course, a spice of adventure— the excite- 
ment of ‘busting bronchos’ and roping cattle, an occasional hunt, 
fighting a prairie fire, a chase after horse thieves, and a stampede. 
Yet, while there is not a prig among the characters, most of them 
are as respectable as your neighbors. . . . Most grown-ups, as 
well as their sons, will enjoy thisbook. . . . Victor Perard’s illus- 
^ations^re y^ctures of real people, not lay figures.”— C/iica^^o 

“Wholesomely exciting . . . stands for real manliness.’’— 

^tan Register. 

THE TREASURE of the CANYON 

A Story of adventure in Arizona. $1.50 

Dick Carew, a likable young fellow of sixteen, joins 
an expedition which is fitted out to search for relics of 
the Cliff Dwellers in Arizona. The strange appearance 
of an ancient document, giving the key to the hiding- 
place of a portion of the treasures of Montezuma, is 
followed by the search for it through the entire length 
of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Their sub- 
sequent adventures furnish enough thrills for even the 
most captious boy reader. 

“A bright, wholesome book ... full of the joy of youth... 
well- written, re&.di&\Ae.”— Louisville Courier -Journal. 

The narrative is bully reading for boys and it is also one of 
the kind that men love to run through, just to remind them 
of the old days and the absorbing books they used to read when 
they ought to be studying their lessons . . . blood-stirring yet 
wholesome, and its descriptions of the Grand Canyon and Painted 
Desert, not to speak of the wealth of Aztec history and lore of 
the Cliff Dwellers, makes it a valuable work, to be ranked 
among the masterpieces of books for the young.”— Albany 
Journal. 


If the reader will send his name and address the publishers will 
send, from time to time, information about their new books. 


Henry Holt and Company, 


BOOKS OF PLAYS FOR CHILDREN 

DESIGNED FOR USE IN THE SCHOOLS 
By CONSTANCE D’ARCY MACKAY 

THE HOUSE OF THE HEART 

AND OTHER PLAYS FOR CHILDREN 

Short plays in verse to be acted by children of four- 
teen or younger. Well written, with clear directions for 
setting and costuming, and plenty of range between 
simplicity and elaborateness, ;^i.io net, by mail, 

Contents: — “The House of the Heart” (Morality 
Play) — “The Gooseherd and the Goblin” (Comedy) 
— “The Enchanted Garden” (Flower Play) — “Nimble 
Wit and Fingerkin” (Industrial Play) — “A Little Pil- 
grim’s Progress” (Morality Play. — “A Pageant of Hours’' 
(To be given Out of Doors) — “On Christmas Eve.” 
“The Elf Child.” “The Princess and the Pixies.” 
“ The Christmas Guest.” (Miracle Play.) 

“ An addition to child drama which has been sorely needed." 
— Boston Transcript^ 

THE SILVER THREAD AND OTHER FOLK 
PLAYS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 

Simplicity is the keynote of these plays. Each has 
a footnote on its origin, and full descriptions and 
directions for easily arranged costumes and scene-settings, 
especially designed to fit the limitations of the school- 
room stage. ;^i.io net; by mail, $1.20. 

Contents: — “The Silver Thread” (Cornish); 
“The Forest Spring” (Italian); “The Foam Maiden” 
(Celtic); “Troll Magic” (Norwegian); “The Three 
Wishes” (French); “A Brewing of Brains” (English); 
“Siegfried” (German); “ The Snow Witch ” (Russian). 


HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

34 West 33D St, New York 


THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW FOREST 


By Captain Marryat. Illustrated in color and 
line by E. Boyd Smith. Special library binding. 
$1.35 net. 

THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS 

By James Fenimore Cooper. Illustrated in color 
and line by E. Boyd Smith. Special library bind- 
ing. $1.35 net. 

In every detail of illustration and manufacture these edi- 
tions are made as if these books were being published for the 
first time for young folks. This attempt to put the juvenile 
classics in a form which on its looks will attract children, 
is meeting with widespread support from the public and 
librarians. 

The text is not abridged. 

Mr. Smith’s pictures need no commendation, but he seems 
to have treated these stories with unusual skill and sym- 
pathy. 


HALF A HUNDRED HERO TALES 

Of Ulysses and the Men of Old. By various authors, 
including Nathaniel Hawthorne. Illustrated. 
Special library binding. $1.35 net. 

The Greek and Roman mythological heroes whose stories 
are here collected are not covered in any other one volume. 
The arrangement gives the interest of connected narrative to 
the account of the fall of Troy, the .<Eneas stories, and the 
Adventures of Ulysses. 


HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 


In the American Nature Series 

For Boys and Girls from 9 to i6 

INSECT STORIES 

By VERNON L. KELLOGG, author of “American 
Insects,” etc. Illustrated, 298 pp., large i2mo, $1.50 net, 
by mail $1.62. 

Strange, true stories, primarily for children, but cer- 
tainly for those grown-ups who like to read discriminat- 
ingly to their children, finding all the time something 
of point of view or allusion especially for themselves. 

“ The author is among the few scientific writers of distinction 
who can interest the popular mind. No intelligent youth can fail 
to read it with delight and profit." — The Nation. 

“ They have that rare quality possessed by Kipling’s ‘Jungle 
Stories,’ which make them enjoyed by both old and young.” — 
New York Globe. 

“ A learned and undisputed insect authority . . . presents a 
group of strange, true stories of insect life, primarily for young 
foUcs, but open to grown-up nature lovers, that are little short 
of fascina.ting.’'—Chica£-o Record-Herald. 

THE FRESH-WATER AQUARIUM AND ITS 
INHABITANTS 

A Guide for the Amateur Aquarist, by OTTO EGGE- 
LINGand FREDERICK EHRENBERG. With 100 
illustrations, large i2mo, probable price, $1.75 net. 

This volume gives clear and complete instructions to 
the amateur. It describes, and illustrates by some of 
the finest photographs ever taken from life, the great 
variety of plants, fishes, turtles, frogs, and insects that 
may be kept indoors in health and contentment. It 
furnishes information concerning food, treatment in 
health and sickness, methods of capture and handling, 
and what aquatic creatures will or will not live in peace 
together. 

” Gives all the necessary information for maintaining any kind 
of an ac\yxar\ViVa.."— Cleveland Plain Dealer. 

‘‘Applicable to the smallest boy’s essay at keeping an aquarium 
and to the largest scientific collection.’’— York Sun. 


If the reader will send his name and address the publishers will 
send, from time to time, information about their new books. 


Henry Holt and Company, ^N^wYork*^' 


STANDARD CYCLOPEDIAS FOR YOUNG OR OLD 


CHAMPLIN’S 

Young Folks’ Cyclopedias 

By JOHN D. CHAMPLIN 

Late Associate Editor of the American Cyclopeedia 
Bound in substantial red buckram. Each volume complete 
in itself and sold separately. i2mo, $3.00 per volume, retail 

COMMON THINGS 

New, Enlarged Edition, 850 pp. Profusely Illustrated 

*‘A book which will be of permanent value to any boy or girl to 
whom it may be given, and which fills a place in the juvenile library, 
never, so far as I know, supplied before.” — Susan Coolidge, 

PERSONS AND PLACES 

New, Up-to-Date Edition, 985 pp. Over 3 75 Illustrations 

“ We know copies of the work to which their young owners turn 
instantly for information upon every theme about which they have 
questions to ask. More than this, we know that some of these copies 
are read daily, as well as consulted; that their owners turn the leaves 
as they might those of a fairy book, reading intently articles of which 
they had not thought before seeing them, and treating the book simply 
as one capable of furnishing the rarest entertainment in exhaustless 
quantities, ” — N. K. Evening Post. 

. LITERATURE AND ART 

604 pp. 270 Illustrations 

“Few poems, plays, novels, pictures, statues, or fictitious characters 
that children — or most of their parents — of our day are likely to inquire 
about will be missed here. Mr. Champlin’s judgment seems unusually 
sound.” — The Nation. 

GAMES AND SPORTS 

By John D. Champlin and Arthur Bostwick 
Revised Edition, 784 pp. 900 Illustrations 

“ Should form a part of every juvenile library, whether public Of 
private.” — The Independent. 

NATURAL HISTORY 

By John D. Champlin, assisted by Frederick A. Lucas 
725 pp. Over 800 Illustrations 

“Here, in compact and attractive form, is valuable and reliable in- 
formation on every phase of natural history, on every item of interest 
to the student. Invaluable to the teacher and school, and should be on 
every teacher’s desk for ready reference, and the children should^ be 
taught to go to this volume for information useful and interesting,” — 
Journal of Education. 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK CHICAGO 


DELIGHTFUL ANTHOLOGIES 

The following books are uniform, with full gilt flexible 
covers and pictured cover linings. i6mo. Each, cloth, 
$1.50; leather, $2.50. 

THE GARLAND OF CHILDHOOD 
A Little Book for All Lovers of Children. Compiled by 
Percy Withers. A collection of poetry about children 
for grown-ups to read. ' 

“ This exquisite a.vitho\o^y."— Boston I'ramcript, 

THE VISTA OF ENGUSH VERSE 

Compiled by Henry S. Pancoast. 

From Spenser to Kipling, based on the editor’s Standard 
English Poems with additions. 

LETTERS THAT LIVE 

Compiled by Laura E. Lockwood and Amy R. Kelly. 
Some 150 letters from Walter Paston to Lewis Carroll. 

“ These self-records preserve and extend the personality of this rare 
company of toVg.."— Chicago Tribune. 

THE POETIC OLD-WORLD 

Compiled by Lucy H. Humphrey. 

Covers Europe, including Spain , Belgium and the Britishlsles. 

THE POETIC NEW-WORLD 

Compiled by Lucy H. Humphrey, a companion volume to 
Miss Humphrey’s “The Poetic Old-World.” 

THE OPEN ROAD 

A little book for wayfarers. Compiled by E. V. Lucas. 

Some 125 poems from over 60 authors. 

“ A very charming book from cover to cover.” — Dial. 

THE FRIENDLY TOWN 

A little book for the urbane, compiled by E. V. Lucas. 
Over 200 selections in verse and prose from 100 authors. 

“ Would have delighted Charles Lamb.”— 77 /^ Nation. 

POEMS FOR TRAVELERS 

Compiled by Mary R. J. DuBois. i6mo. Cloth, $1.50; 
leather, $ 2 . 50. Covers France, Germany, Austria, Switzer- 
land, Italy, and Greece in some 300 poems. 

A BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN 

Over 200 poems representing some 80 authors. Compiled by 
E. V. Lucas. With decorations by F. D. Bedford. Gift 
edition, $2.00. Library edition, $1.00 net. 

“We know of no other anthology for children so complete and well 
arranged.”— Cr2*V. 


HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

34 West 33D Steeet NEW YORK 


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